Classic Poem

Spirit of twilight, through your folded wings
— I catch a glimpse of your averted face,
And rapturous on a sudden, my soul sings
— " Is not this common earth a holy place? "

Spirit of Twilight, you are like a song
— That sleeps, and waits a singer, — like a hymn
That God finds lovely and keeps near Him long,
— Till it is choired by aureoled cherubim.

Spirit of Twilight, in the golden gloom
— Of dreamland dim I sought you, and I found
A woman sitting in a silent room
— Full of white flowers that moved and made no sound.

These white flowers were the thoughts you bring to all,
— And the room's name is Mystery where you sit,
Woman whom we call Twilight, when night's pall
— You lift across our Earth to cover it.