By Nora May French

Earth"s parched lips
            Drink coolness once again, for daylight dies.
The young moon dips,
  A threaded gleam where sunset languid lies,
  And slowly twilight opens starry eyes.

Low in the West
  Day"s fading embers cast a last faint glow
Behind a crest
  Where curving hills on primrose paleness show
  Sharp-lined twilight opens starry eyes.

A first long sigh
  Stirs from the broad and dew-wet breast of
The leaves reply
  With soft small rustling, moths take ghostly
  And waking crickets shrill long-drawn delight.