November Twilight

Now Winter at the end of day

Along the ridges takes her way,

Upon her twilight round to light

The faithful candles of the night.

As quiet as the nun she goes

With silver lamp in hand, to close

The silent doors of dusk that keep

The hours of memory and sleep.

She pauses to tread out the fires

Where Autumn's festal train retires.

The last red embers smoulder down

Behind the steeples of the town.

Austere and fine the trees stand bare

And moveless in the frosty air,

Against the pure and paling light

Before the threshold of the night.

On purple valley and dim wood

The timeless hush of solitude

Is laid, as if the time for some

Transcending mystery were come,

That shall illumine and console

The penitent and eager soul,

Setting her free to stand before

Supernal beauty and adore.

Dear Heart, in heaven's high portico

It is the hour of prayer. And lo,

Above the earth, serene and still,

One star — our star — o'er Lonetree Hill!