At dusk, within the canyon's towering gate, Where twilight's purple shadows softly throng, The gray waifs of the desert raise their song, And in an evening anthem celebrate The day's events. Those eerie notes to state And life not of our age seem to belong, But hold an echo of some primal wrong Long-sealed in Doombook of the Wild Folk's fate. One voice at lifts the weird, chuckling wail, Until the distance-softened chorus full With all the magic of the gloaming blends -- With lilac-shadowed peaks, and twittered hail Of homing bird, and wood-sweet south-wind cool That to the hour its benediction lends. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PUTTING IN THE SEED by ROBERT FROST THE BEGGAR'S OPERA: SONG. AIR 16: OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY by JOHN GAY ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER by JOHN KEATS THE LEPER (2) by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS |