Twilitten

You’ve faintly felt on your twilitten face / The air of a swallow’s arrowy pace?

Till at last on an eve came one / through twilitten ways, / With foam on his beard, and his eyes / yet afire with amaze: […]

Not yet the youngest day is born nor the oldest night is sped; / The hidden norns have woven hope through the murky woof of days; / Still the god’s twilitten end is far and the dreadful dream is fled; / Hear thou, great god of the flow’ring world, thy grateful children’s praise!

From the twitter at dawn / On the twilitten lawn, / Through the hum of the morning, the silence of noon, / To the robin’s last trill / When the others are still, / There are songs without number interpreting June— / Each a poem—and each / Is made prosy by speech!

Stars of Night, / twilitten blue hued, / black is the sky. / Blue, to them, match the Moon.