Twilight speaks imperishable words,
Within the blossomy bosom lost of groves supernal,
I hark the singing of the Paradise-birds.
Their fragrant notes with beauteous colours garnished,
Vibrate across the infinite Beyond,
Their soulful sweetness never paled or lustre tarnished,
To every tone within mine heart responds.
Among the mystic trees and sacred bowers,
Resplendent with the eternal sunset's light,
They merge their opal plumage, in unending hours,
Which slowly fade across the Infinite.
Their songs awak'ning every pent up river,
Unrolling every mighty wave of Thought,
Across the resounding lyre of the spirit quiver,
To render deathless every thrill they wrought.
Not sad, not gay, not passionless nor tender,
But a recall of deep-felt moments gone,
A something human symbols cannot ever render,
A mingling of all faded joys in one.
A strong aspiring and a blissful yearning,
Befreed from sense of separateness or dole;
A gladness born of lost delights'enrapt returning,
To lie embraced for aye within the soul.
Cyril Scott
