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The last rays of the day fade away
The quiet of the latest minutes
Of the passing day
My heart leaps away
To the remotest unknown
The unknown familiar ocean
I frequently float,
Gets stormy and floods me away
To the shore of solitude
“Far from the madding crowd”—
Presence that crushes my soul.
Deep in the valley of night,
I close my eyes
To blend the gloom of my soul
With the unblinking darkness.
O, Lil,
Let the fatigue of your spirit stream away.
The scent of fire I never set
Mixed with the smell of damp grass,
Untrodden and virgin,
Getting trodden by the wet feet of night drops
And blows of chilly air
Which walk through all my breath,
Remind me of the memory of the years passed
Repressing my being.
The long fruitless years of endeavor
The hopeful nocturnal depression of idleness,
And still incapable
Deprived of words.
O, night,
The silver strip of light
Bestow to me,
To the nameless pale color
Of his diary.
To calm my soul.
The running stream of Existence,
Left behind
The crystalline hour of
The day is
Counting the endless seconds
Of the awaiting visit.
But me,
My spirit
Joining the light
To the night
Still in the journey
Between yesterdays and tomorrows.
—Lil, Winter 1911
