SHE IS THE SPIRIT of an Autumn evening, robed in the gleams of the vanished sunset, carrying the promise of the immense peace of the star, guiding with her speechless ministry the languid steps of the long lingering hours of the reluctant night into the neighbourhood of the morning star. Her tresses touched by the gentle breeze of the dawn, that smell of the morning worship, her sad and sweet face of the day's end becomes radiant with the blessedness of the morning light.
IN THE NIGHT the song came to me; but you were not there. It found the words for which I had been seeking all day. Yes, in the stillness a moment after dark they throbbed into music, even as the stars then began to pulse with light; but you were not there. My hope was to sing it to you in the morning; but, try as I might, though the music came, the words hung back, when you were beside me.
