I

The ferries ply like shuttles in a loom,
— And many barques come in across the bay
To lights and bells that signal through the gloom
— Of twilight gray;

And like the brown soft flutter of the snow
— The wide-winged sea-birds droop from closing skies,
And hover near the water, circling low,
— As the day dies.

The city like a shadowed castle stands,
— Its turrets indistinctly touching night;
Like earth-born stars far fetched from faerie lands,
— Its lamps are bright.

This is my hour, — when wonder springs anew
— To see the towers ascending, pale and high,
And the long seaward distances of blue,
— And the dim sky.

II

This is my hour, between the day and night;
— The sun has set and all the world is still,
— The afterglow upon the distant hill
Is as a holy light.

This is my hour, between the sun and moon;
— The little stars are gathering in the sky,
— There is no sound but one bird's startled cry, —
One note that ceases soon.

The gardens and, far off, the meadow-land,
— Are like the fading depths beneath a sea,
— While over waves of misty shadows we
Drift onward, hand in hand.

This is my hour, that you have called your own;
— Its hushed beauty silently we share, —
— Touched by the wistful wonder in the air
That leaves us so alone.

III

In rain and twilight mist the city street,
— Hushed and half-hidden, might this instant be
— A dark canal beneath our balcony,
Like one in Venice, Sweet.

The street-lights blossom, star-wise, one by one;
— A lofty tower the shadows have not hid
— Stands out — part column and part pyramid —
Holy to look upon.

The dusk grows deeper, and on silver wings
— The twilight flutters like a weary gull
— Toward some sea-island, lost and beautiful,
Where a sea-syren sings.

" This is my hour, " you breathe with quiet lips;
— And filled with beauty, dreaming and devout,
— We sit in silence, while our thoughts go out —
Like treasure-seeking ships.