The jacaranda petals one by one
Fall from the dusk. Soon now, with quiet feet,
Evening will walk, who carries in her breast
All birds uncomforted, all flowers unblest.
"See, now," she says, "the twilight tree aflower.
All we have dreamed, all that we might have done,
With this proud abdication of the sun
Is lost. But yet my still blue ways are sweet."
Out of the tawny west a star has risen:
He does not fear the forest of the night,
Who, with his tinsel bauble made of light,
Weaves fairytale again in ancient prison.
Why should he fear the thorn-groves, the bebrambled
Cliffs where so many greybeard fools have scrambled?
For he is master over ancient lore,
What the Chaldean knew, this monarch knows,
And strange wands move beside him and before,
And light is round him, like a yellow rose.