Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/423

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By Frances Nicholson

Deep is the crimson in the west,And broader, deeper, fuller stillThe amber shafts and amethystThat fret the twilight of the hill.And wondrously in silver spaceThe shadowy lake-world glimmers fair,A magic sunset and the graceOf fairy woodland, all are here.About my feet the blue-bells press,An azure sea of smiling bloom,And primroses' pale lovelinessThick clustered in the mossy gloom.The placid ripples come and go,No murmur stirs the leaves on high,The bracken shakes, but who may knowWhat trembling wild thing flashes by?Unsolaced in this green reposeMy labouring soul? and doubt-distressed?Oh! gates of the west roll back, disclose,Answer with splendour manifest.

Answer,

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