THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapor that obscured the sunset's ray; And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day. Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen. They breathe their spells toward the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars and sea; Light, sound and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass. Thou too, aerial Pile, whose pinnacles Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire, Around whose lessening and invisible height Gather among the stars the clouds of night. The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres; And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around; And mingling with the still night and mute sky Its awful hush is felt inaudibly. Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild And terrorless as this serenest night; Here could I hope, like some inquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN AFTER A VAUDEVILLE SHOW by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SOJOURN IN THE WHALE by MARIANNE MOORE DRIVING HOME THE COWS by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE NERVES by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS TWILIGHT TIME by ANNA MCINTOSH BEVILLE |