Vii. The Pause Of Evening

Nightward on dimmest wing in Twilight’s train The grey hours floated smoothly, lingeringly; A solemn wonder was the western sky Rich with the slow forsaking sunset-stain, Barred by long violet cloud; hillside and plain The feet of Night had touched; a wind’s low sigh Told of whole pleasure lapsed,--then rustled by With soft subsidence in the rippling grain. Why in dark dews, unready to depart, Did Evening pause and ponder, nor perceive Star follow star into the central blue? What secret was the burden of her heart? What grave, sweet memory grew she loath to leave? What finer sense, no morrow may renew?