Golden vines they...

By Dhan Gopal Mukerji

Golden vines they,

These thin lines of light,

Climbing the sky-wall

After the sun sank into sleep.

Like rills, thread-like,

Seen from a jutting rock

Where air is dizzy

And fancy infinite, free.

What fiery wine

Tingles in these vines

Weaving golden arabesques

On the pale evening sky?

Ah, the heavens this hour

Have drunk of sunset's ruby Wine

For those golden cobwebs to weave

Their magic of twilight dreams.