DUSK SONG

by: William H. A. Moore

      HE garden is very quiet to-night,
      The dusk has gone with the Evening Star,
      And out on the bay a lone ship light
      Makes a silver pathway over the bar
      Where the sea sings low.
       
      I follow the light with an earnest eye,
      Creeping along to the thick far-away,
      Until it fell in the depths of the deep, dark sky
      With the haunting dream of the dusk of day
      And its lovely glow.
       
      Long nights, long nights and the whisperings of new ones,
      Flame the line of the pathway down to the sea
      With the halo of new dreams and the hallow of old ones,
      And they bring magic light to my love reverie
      And a lover's regret.
       
      Tender sorrow for loss of a soft murmured word,
      Tender measure of doubt in a faint, aching heart,
      Tender listening for wind-songs in the tree heights heard
      When you and I were of the dusks a part,
      Are with me yet.
       
      I pray for faith to the noble spirit of Space,
      I sound the cosmic depths for the measure of glory
      Which will bring to this earth the imperishable race
      Of whom Beauty dreamed in the soul-toned story
      The Prophets told.
       
      Silence and love and deep wonder of stars
      Dust-silver the heavens from west to east,
      From south to north, and in a maze of bars
      Invisible I wander far from the feast
      As night grows old.
       
      Half blind is my vision I know to the truth,
      My ears are half deaf to the voice of the tear
      That touches the silences as Autumn's ruth
      Steals thru the dusks of each returning year
      A goodly friend.
       
      The Autumn, then Winter and wintertime's grief!
      But the weight of the snow is the glistening gift
      Which loving brings to the rose and its leaf,
      For the days of the roses glow in the drift
      And never end.
       
      * * * * * *
       
      The moon has come. Wan and pallid is she.
      The spell of half memories, the touch of half tears,
      And the wounds of worn passions she brings to me
      With all the tremor of the far-off years
      And their mad wrong.
       
      Yet the garden is very quiet to-night,
      The dusk has long gone with the Evening Star,
      And out on the bay the moon's wan light
      Lays a silver pathway beyond the bar,
      Dear heart, pale and long.

"Dusk Song" is reprinted from The Book of American Negro Poetry. Ed. James Weldon Johnson. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1922.

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