Other Twilights

O Love, does she recall the far-off place, —
The place we loved in, but two years ago,
And through gray twilights heard the sea-winds blow,
And thunder of the sea that pines and slays?
I walk alone, now, by still, inland ways;
The time is Autumn, and the light is low.
Through which a wind like that we used to know.
Comes, like the voices of those other days, —

Those other twilights, thronged with dreams and hopes,
When all my way with flowers seemed fair to see.
Who now must go by harsh, unflowering slopes.
Through night with which no least light ever copes.
Until some blessed day I come to be
Where all my silent dead ones wait for me.