The long last lights on the mesas fail,
And the twittering quail and the coo-doves cease;
The young wind walks in the tasseling corn—
Ohé!
But there’s never the fall of your foot in the trail,
And the twilight hour is long,
Beloved—
Ohé!
And the twilight hour is long!
The moon comes over the cañon wall
The tombés wake,
And the slim flutes call,
And the dew drips down from the tasseling corn—
Ohé!
But there’s never the sound of your voice at all,
And the twilight hour is long,
Beloved—
Ohé!
And the twilight hour is long!