AFTER SUNSET.
167
AFTER SUNSET.
EST—rest—four little letters, one short word, Enfolding an infinitude of bliss—
Rest is upon the earth. The heavy clouds
Hang poised in silent ether, motionless,
Seeking nor sun nor breeze. No restless star
Thrill^ the sky's gray-robed breast with pulsing rays,
The night's heart has throbbed out.
No grass blade stirs,
No downy-winged moth comes flittering by
Caught by the light—Thank God, there is no light,
No open-eyed, loud-voiced, quick-motioned light,
Nothing but gloom and rest.
A row of trees
Along the hill horizon, westward, stands
All black and still, as if it were a rank
Of fallen angels, melancholy met
Before the amber gate of Paradise—
The bright shut gate, whose everlasting smile
Deadens despair to calm.
O, better far
Better than bliss is rest! If suddenly
