sets a brief poem by Sara Teasdale, who took her own life after an unhappy marriage and the suicide of a close friend and admirer, fellow-poet Vachel Lindsay. This magical little tone poem is really an exploration of just a few chords, simple triads that are subtly piqued as they frequently telescope into each other. Against this static backdrop, sopranos and altos limn the dusk chorus and a first glimpse of the stars. The piece doesn’t really go anywhere, it simply is
, full of innocent wonderment at the close of the day.
from notes by Gabriel Jackson © 2011