Part 4 — GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL (‘A. E.’)

WHEN the breath of twilight blows to flame the misty skies, All its vaporous sapphire, violet glow and silver gleam, With their magic flood me through the gateway of the eyes; I am one with the twilight’s dream. When the trees and skies and fields are one in dusky mood, Every heart of man is rapt within the mother’s breast: Full of peace and sleep and dreams in the vasty quietude, I am one with their hearts at rest. From our immemorial joys of hearth and home and love Stray’d away along the margin of the unknown tide, All its reach of soundless calm can thrill me far above Word or touch from the lips beside. Aye, and deep and deep and deeper let me drink and draw From the olden fountain more than light or peace or dream, Such primæval being as o’erfills the heart with awe, Growing one with its silent stream.

ITS edges foam’d with amethyst and rose, Withers once more the old blue flower of day: There where the ether like a diamond glows, Its petals fade away. A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air; Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows; The great deep thrills—for through it everywhere The breath of Beauty blows. I saw how all the trembling ages past, Moulded to her by deep and deeper breath, Near’d to the hour when Beauty breathes her last And knows herself in death.