Now folds the Tree of Day its perfect flowers, And every bloom becomes a bud again, Shut and sealed up against the golden showers Of bees that hover in the velvet hours.... Now a strain Wild and mournful blown from shadow towers, Echoed from shadow ships upon the foam, Proclaims the Queen of Night. From their bowers The dark Princess fluttering, wing their flight To their old Mother, in her huge old home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESSAY ON STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH WESTERN CIVILIZATION by JAMES GALVIN HER EYES TWIN POOLS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON VIOLET'S WAFERS, SENT ME WHEN I WAS ILL by SIDNEY LANIER |