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.