Twilight is—to most—a rising wall that brings the dark. To me, now, it is a hyphen space Between that compound, sorrow-peace. I told a group of friends, some old, some new, How just recently, I sat one unsuspecting twilight That showed no outlet, save its bridge of night, When something stirred, like a breeze low-circling Seeking out a covered path to go— Then a voice, as luminous as a shining door, Swung an opening, letting music in, and light, And gave me key for every twilight after— A key that turned the twilight to a curtain, Hiding exit that avoided pitfall-night.... And each man there, especially the singer and the poet— Each stroked a conscious chin; And every woman raised a speculating eyebrow.... But from him, whose voice had been the shining door, Came the slight effect of laughter— Laughter soft as whirling of a leaf.... They did not hear—but I rejoiced, Knowing that the dead most live! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT HE WROTE THE HISTORY BOOK,' IT SAID by MARIANNE MOORE THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 105 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PSALM OF THOSE WHO GO FORTH BEFORE DAYLIGHT by CARL SANDBURG WHEN HE EMERGED by MARGARET AHO |