Twilight in the Garden

The scent of the earth is moist and good In the dewy shade Of the tall, dark poplars whose slender tops Against the sunset bloom are laid, And a robin is whistling in the copse By the dim spruce wood. The west wind blowing o'er branch and flower Out of the wold, Steals through the honeysuckle bower And bears away on its airy wings Odors that breath of paradise; Dim are the poppies' splendid dyes, But many a pallid primrose swings Its lamp of gold. A white moth flits from tree to tree Like a wandering soul; Deep in the lily a muffled boom Tells of a honey-drunken bee Wildered with sweets in that ivory bowl; Many a subtle melody, Many a rare sound all unknown To the lusty daylight's fuller tone Threads with its magic this hush and gloom. Many a dear thought deep in the heart, Many a memory, dulcet and fine, Wakes as we walk in the garden to-night, In this soft kissing of dark and light, When the world has drawn itself apart From our spirit's shrine.