Twilight
THE stately tragedy of dusk
Drew to its perfect close,
The virginal white evening star
Sank, and the red moon rose.
Swallow Flight
I LOVE my hour of wind and light,
I love men’s faces and their eyes,
I love my spirit’s veering flight
Like swallows under evening skies,
Thoughts
WHEN I can make my thoughts come forth
To walk like ladies up and down,
Each one puts on before the glass
Her most becoming hat and gown.
But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
That hide and will not get them dressed,
Why is it that they always seem
So much more lovely than the rest?