Methought little space 'tween those hills intervened,
But nearer,--more lofty,--more shaggy they seemed.
The clouds o'er their summits they calmly did rest,
And hung on the ether's invisible breast;
Than the vapours of earth they seemed purer, more bright,--
Oh! could they be clouds? 'Twas the necklace of night.
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Now in his Palace of the West,
Sinking to slumber, the bright Day,
Like a tired monarch read more
Now in his Palace of the West,
Sinking to slumber, the bright Day,
Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest,
'Mid the cool airs of Evening lay;
While round his couch's golden rim
The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept--
Struggling each other's light to dim,
And catch his last smile e'er he slept.
Oft did I wonder why the setting sun
Should look upon us with a blushing face:
Is't read more
Oft did I wonder why the setting sun
Should look upon us with a blushing face:
Is't not for shame of what he hath seen done,
Whilst in our hemisphere he ran his race?
The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!
The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!
When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
read more
When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth.
See! he sinks
Without a word; and his ensanguined bier
Is vacant in the west, while far read more
See! he sinks
Without a word; and his ensanguined bier
Is vacant in the west, while far and near
Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks,
Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry
Amid thy cloud-built streets.
- Rev. Frederick William Faber,
When clouds are seen wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall then winter is at hand.
When clouds are seen wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall then winter is at hand.
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he read more
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run!
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,
And there followed some droppings of rain:
But now the fair traveller's come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.
Long on the wave reflected lustres play.
Long on the wave reflected lustres play.
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the read more
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from
Sinai.
