Would evening fold its
Blanket skies
The same
As if I'd hurried by
Or meadows golden mandate
Pause
'Til slipping 'neath the
Misty cloth
Of muslin white
Should I delay?
If still the voice of thrush
Gives way
To songs the hosts of night
Purvey
It will not be for me they call
But for my God
Who sees it
All
