In these days when the ink of my soul runs dry,

And the grateful blaze is embers red and dim,

And dreary work goes on to dreary rest,

A gradient of the twilight glows

Through the black bars of the bedroom blinds.

The years long gone, the adventures of the mind

Still leave their silent radiance,

And the world of those wonders is the same

As the world through which I drag,

The storm unsung, the dragonfly unmourned,

The muted passions seeking for a word,

And I grasp for the glow that redeems

Erosions of the evening.