Хоакин (Цинциннат Хайнер) Миллер (Joaquin (Cincinnatus Hiner) Miller)

Twilight at the Heights

The brave young city by the Balboa seas
Lies compassed about by the hosts of night—
Lies humming, low, like a hive of bees;
And the day lies dead. And its spirit’s flight
Is far to the west; while the golden bars        
That bound it are broken to a dust of stars.

Come under my oaks, oh, drowsy dusk!
The wolf and the dog; dear incense hour
When Mother Earth hath a smell of musk,
And things of the spirit assert their power—        
When candles are set to burn in the west—
Set head and foot to the day at rest.