Dusk
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
night.
The leaves reply
With soft small rustling, moths take ghostly
flight,
And waking crickets shrill long-drawn delight.