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Night like purple flakes of snow
Falls with ease
Catching on the roofs of houses
In the tops of trees
Down upon the distant grass
And the distant flower
It will drift into this room
In an hour. . . . . . . . .
From Caroling Dusk (Harper & Brothers, 1927), edited by Countee Cullen. This poem is in the public domain.
After all and after all
When the song is sung
And swallowed up in silence
It were more real unsung. . . .
After all and after all
When the lips have stirred
Such a little of the thought
Is transmuted in the word. . . . . .
Softly blow lightly
O twilight breeze
Scarcely bend slightly
O silver trees:
Night glides slowly down hill . . down stream
Bringing a myriad star-twinkling dream. . . . .
Softly blow lightly
O twilight breeze
Scarcely bend slightly
She kneeled before me begging
That I should with a prayer
Give her absolution
(How golden was her hair!)
She begged an absolution
While the moments fled
She thought my tears were pity
(My soul her lips were red!)
She begged of me forgiveness