AFTER TEA

See how the aged trembling hands of Day

Spill over the white cloth and tea-cups blue,

Red wine from his last goblet poured away;

So let me by the window sit with you,

And watch the sun drop down behind the trees,

Or gleam across the snow — a crimson bar;

For in still, mystic moments such as these

Down unknown by-ways we may wander far.

The crimson turns to purple on the snow,

The orange sky grown gray, and glimmering lights

Of scattered star-lamps through the darkness glow;

But neither Night nor Death my soul affrights,

For clear there gleams, all earthly dark above,

The ever-burning star-lamp of your love.