Gloamtide

The shades of the gloaming around me are stealing,
  The lure of the dusk through the silences call,
While blossoming incense comes mutely appealing,
  And choiring wood-voices, vespering, fall.
Immersed in the deep of my dim sylvan-bower,
  Upborne on the breast of its emerald tide,
I drift with the gleam of the vanishing hour
  Afar⁠—where my uttermost longings abide.