32 (as the tender twilight)

AS THE TENDER twilight covers in its fold of dusk-veil marks of

hurt and wastage from the dusty day's prostration, even so

let my great sorrow for thy loss. Beloved, spread one

perfect golden-tinted silence of its sadness o'er my life.

Let all its jagged fractures and distortions, all unmeaning

scattered scraps and wrecks and random ruins, merge in

vastness of some evening stilled with thy remembrance,

filled with endless harmony of pain and peace united.

 

 

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