Twilight at the Heights

The brave young city by the Balboa seas Lies compassed about by the hosts of night— Lies humming, low, like a hive of bees; And the day lies dead. And its spirit’s flight Is far to the west; while the golden bars That bound it are broken to a dust of stars. Come under my oaks, oh, drowsy dusk! The wolf and the dog; dear incense hour When Mother Earth hath a smell of musk, And things of the spirit assert their power— When candles are set to burn in the west— Set head and foot to the day at rest.

Collection:

English

Joaquin Miller

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