The shades of the gloaming around me are stealing,
The lure of the dusk through the silences call,
Whiie blossoming incense comes mutely appealing,
And choiring wood-voices, vespering, fall.
Immersed in the deep of my dim sylvan-bower,
Upborne on the breast of its emerald tide,
I drift with the gleam of the vanishing hour
Afar — where my uttermost longings abide.