Classic Poem

He that walketh through the twilight
Sings a melody of peace;
Great he is, and strong and comely,
Bearing on his star-swept forehead
Cool night-patience, and release
From the dusty day and torrid;
At his footstep, labour, cease.

From the far gradated colours,
Through the thin airs of the west,
His sure step advancing, rustles
Over dew-begetting grasses,
Like a wind in search of rest—
Comes in majesty and passes
By the weary he has blest.

Deep to deep of heaven answers
Tone of colour unto tone;
Faint his song is, low but potent,
Strong to succour, soft and crooning,
Many hear and smile unknown;
Day has heard, she droopeth swooning;
Night has heard, she takes her own.

Shadow upon shadow deepens,
One by one the stars emerge,
Folded sheep and crofted cattle
Watch the dying western glimmer
Swallowed, and the dark night surge
From the valleys—dimmer, dimmer,
Till it tops the horizon's verge.