“EVENING”

Beloved of my soul, the day is done;

The busy noises cease, the lights are low;

Gently the doors shut to behind each one

Seeking his sleep; the fading embers glow

On silent hearths; the silent ashes fall —

Ah, absent spirit, do you hear me call,

Me, sitting waiting by the fireside?

This is the hour of all the night and day,

— This is the hour when, work put aside,

And all the talking, whether grave or gay,

For pleasure or for profit, hushed and dumb,

We used to, in the days before you died,

Seek out each other's mind for rest, and say:

“Now am I home, and all is well with me;

To-day is gone, to-morrow is to come;

Here let us be.”

Surely, for all the barriers of sense,

And the stark grossness of this flesh I wear,

For all the vacant distance of the skies

Between me here alone, and you, gone hence,

There must be some quick knowledge; I must hear

That dear familiar voice again, must see

Some semblance of you with my bodily eyes,

Now, now, when in the solitude I yearn

Towards your heart, my home; now when I turn

Humbly and searchingly towards that goal

That lies beyond the purchase of the world —

You again, you, dear comrade of my soul.