Sonnet

Autumnal dusk was sweeping with a star, Over the wood where lovers’ lips were meeting; Trembled the first cold night-flame, passed the far Low-whistling sadness of a duck’s wings beating. Heart strained to heart. The purple deepened through A twilight shriven in its pain of dying; Swiftly the wing-beats slanted earthward to The darkening marshes, with a throat-soft crying. Night crept through dusk, as now the old surprise Crept through our kisses to the inner love, An age-old wistfulness. Our pensive eyes Yearned to the darkness and the veil thereof; Yea, and our ears found sorrow in the cries Of moor-fowls,—and the darkness wheeled above. WINFIELD SHIRAS.