Evening falls, and the speaker pictures the earth as a woman pulling an old blue shawl around her shoulders. Stars glint far off, patient and colorful. He thinks about life’s patterns—dawn and nightfall, fire and dying embers—but instead of sinking into gloom, he lets himself enjoy a consoling idea: his night is dawn somewhere else. Those distant dawns feel delicate, like rose petals settling through the blue of his evening. In response, he lights his pipe as a small salute and sits puffing smoke without needing to say a word. The mood is calm, tender, and quietly open to wonder at the edge of night.
Irradiations XXIX — Summary
It is evening, and the earth Wraps her shoulders in an old blue shawl. Afar off there clink the polychrome points of the stars, Indefatigable, after all these years! Here upon earth there is life, and then death, Dawn, and later nightfall, Fire, and the quenching of embers: But why should I not remember that my night is dawn in another part of the world, If the idea fits my fancy? Dawns of marvellous light, wakeful, sleepy, weary, dancing dawns, You are rose petals settling through the blue of my evening: I light my pipe to salute you, And sit puffing smoke in the air and never say a word.