Emily Pauline Johnson (Эмили Полин Джонсон)
At Sunset
To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes; Its chalice overflows With pools of purple colouring the skies, Aflood with gold and rose; And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine, As sinks the sun within that world of wine. I seem to hear a bar of music float And swoon into the west; My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note, But something in my breast Blends with that strain, till both accord in one, As cloud and colour blend at set of sun. And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes, As ashes follow flame. But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies Call tenderly my name; It was as if some priestly fingers stole In benedictions o'er my lonely soul. I know not why, but all my being longed And leapt at that sweet call; My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged And beat against Fate's wall, Crying in utter homesickness to be Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.
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