The Spike or Victoria College Review 1937
Hushed is the Voice of Twilight; gone the thrills
Of other days: only their memories remain.
Sad tunes re-echo through Love's misty hills,
And all things wear the mantle of proud Pain.
Sunsets shall pass, hereafter, with their sails
Of russet hue; the Printemps perfume lull
Warm hearts to sleep; the Jasmin tell sad tales
Of Love that came and vanished; and the lonely gull
Shall cry aloft, out of Heaven; but no more to me
Shall come the Body of my dreams, no more
The Hell of Pain be well rewarded by Love's fee;
Only the soft sea lapping on some distant shore
Shall stay, when all is done, to mock my heart to sleep.
Hushed Voice of Twilight, Palms that never sway,
Your mysteries, things I loved, are far too deep
For Sorrow's knowing. For my Love has passed away.