In “Evening,” H.D. watches a hillside at dusk as the light moves and fades. The wildflowers—hepatica, with their pale blue petals—seem to close inward, their color deepening until each flower disappears into the dimness. The speaker then notices the cornel bushes, whose white buds still hold a little light, but shadows are already creeping up from the roots. Leaves cast dark shapes across other leaves, and shadow seems to seek out shadow. Eventually the distinction between leaf and shadow blurs and both vanish. The poem captures the quiet, almost eerie moment when the world loses its edges. There is no dramatic grief, only hushed attention: a sense of things withdrawing gently into darkness, as if the evening itself is erasing the details of the landscape.
Evening — Summary
The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower-- the hypaticas, wide-spread under the light grow faint-- the petals reach inward, the blue tips bend toward the bluer heart and the flowers are lost. The cornel-buds are still white, but shadows dart from the cornel-roots-- black creeps from root to root, each leaf cuts another leaf on the grass, shadow seeks shadow, then both leaf and leaf-shadow are lost.