Opals (Custance)/Twilight

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For other versions of this work, see Twilight (Custance).
4443570Opals — TwilightOlive Custance

Twilight

"Mother of the dews, dark eyelashed Twilight!
Low-lidded Twilight o'er the valley's brim."
Meredith.

Spirit of Twilight, through your folded wings
I catch a glimpse of your averted face,
And rapturous on a sudden, my soul sings
"Is not this common earth a holy place?"

Spirit of Twilight, you are like a song
That sleeps and waits a singer, like a hymn
That God finds lovely and keeps near him long
Till it is choired by aureoled cherubim.

Spirit of Twilight, in the golden gloom
Of dreamland dim, I sought for you and found
A woman weeping in a silent room
Full of white flowers that moved and made no sound.

These white flowers were the thoughts men never tell,
And the room's name is mystery, where you weep,
Woman, whom we call Twilight when Day's spell
Of toil is broken, and you bring back sleep! . . .