The Sigh of Twilight

When the sun paints mauve and bids adieu,
And long shadows kiss the border’s seam,
A sigh dissolves, a gentle passing hue,
In air growing delicate like a dream.
It is not deep blue, nor red of burning fire,
But a faint violet, almost sheer and bright,
The color of a soul without desire,
That fades into the dark, sweetly out of sight.