November Twilight

Now Winter at the end of day Along the ridges takes her way,

Upon her twilight round to light The faithful candles of the night.

As quiet as the nun she goes With silver lamp in hand, to close

The silent doors of dusk that keep The hours of memory and sleep.

She pauses to tread out the fires Where Autumn's festal train retires.

The last red embers smoulder down Behind the steeples of the town.

Austere and fine the trees stand bare And moveless in the frosty air,

Against the pure and paling light Before the threshold of the night.

On purple valley and dim wood The timeless hush of solitude

Is laid, as if the time for some Transcending mystery were come,

That shall illumine and console The penitent and eager soul,

Setting her free to stand before Supernal beauty and adore.

Dear Heart, in heaven's high portico It is the hour of prayer. And lo,

Above the earth, serene and still, One star—our star—o'er Lonetree Hill!