Twilight at the Hights

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Twilight At The Hights 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.

© Joaquin Miller