The Vast Hour

All essences of sweetness from the white Warm day go up in vapor, when the dark Comes down. Ascends the tune of meadow-lark, Ascends the noon-time smell of grass, when night Takes sunlight from the world, and gives it ease. Mysterious wings have brushed the air; and light Float all the ghosts of sense and sound and sight; The silent hive is echoing the bees. So stir my thoughts at this slow, solemn time. Now only is there certainty for me When all the day's distilled and understood. Now light meets darkness: now my tendrils climb In this vast hour, up the living tree, Where gloom foregathers, and the stern winds brood.