The Blue Mist

Twilight . . . the musical Earth mute . . .One yellow star above the rose-stained west . . .Whose worshippers in woody undergrowthsPale primrose stars of Spring waft scentful gustsOf wild flower prayer to her . . . The purple duskFolds nearer and the faded far-off fieldsAre lost to sight, and through the leafless treesCreeps a soft sapphire mist, till every twigIs blotted out, and every branch is veiled . . .And pine and fir loom mystical and strangeAnd the great cedar wavers like a dreamBeneath the cloudless sky that darkens stillSlung here and there each moment with more stars.