II The twilight turns from amethyst To deep and deeper blue, The lamp fills with a pale green glow The trees of the avenue. The old piano plays an air, Sedate and slow and gay; She bends upon the yellow keys, Her head inclines this way. Shy thoughts and grave wide eyes and hands That wander as they list -- The twilight turns to darker blue With lights of amethyst.
Joyce' Poems Index | Joyce Page | My Poet Pages | Poet Links