WHEN the new day dawns and the shadows flee

Over the western hills,

Leaving the ground that the glebesman tills

Timelessly stark and uncle wed of Night's majesty,

Has Time a fairer robe

For this ensea'd and rock-ribbed globe

Than darkness-woven star-cloth and moon-brooch of ecstasy ?

Twilight is a whispering forest closed

To the cities of the mind :

The mountain of full day has left behind

Those lesser levels where the Seer dozed

In the hazed unsilent air—

Only the Spirit's peaks can bear

The solemn rapture of that Calm, that Vastness unopposed.