Readers can easily settle into a receptive twilight mood with these 35 quiet, infiltrating short poems. From Archibald MacLeish's hayfields in twilight and Robert P. Tristram Coffin's cows coming home in Maine, the volume progresses to the dark (""I dread it still at sixty-two,"" ends Roy Fuller's confession) and the creatures of night, May Swenson's and Randall Jarrell's arresting owls among them. It pauses to observe Robert Francis' toad and Carl Sandburg's cabbages that ""catch at the moon,"" and ends with Mark Van Doren's still-serene ""Good Morning."" There might be a shade too much of fairyland mixed in, and an occasional babyish touch, but overall the collection enfolds, like a sandman's spell.