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Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney


Spring Nightfall


APRIL is sad, as if the end she knew.
The maples misty red, the willows gold
Face-deep in nimble water, seem to hold
In hopes own weather their autumnal hue.
There is no wind, no star, no sense of dew,
But the thin vapors gird the mountain old,
And the moon, risen before the west is cold,
Pale with compassion slopes into the blue.
Under the shining dark the day hath passed
Shining; so even of thee was home bereaved,
Thou dear and pensive spirit! overcast
Hardly at all, but drawn from light to light,
Who in the doubtful hour, and unperceived,
Rebuked adoring hearts with change and flight.



Louise Imogen Guiney


Louise Imogen Guiney's other poems:
  1. Sunday Chimes in the City
  2. The Old Dial of Corpus
  3. Saint Peter-ad-Vincula
  4. A Madonna of Domenico Ghirlandajo
  5. Florentin


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