WHEN, as the garish day is done, Heaven burns with the descended sun, 'Tis passing sweet to mark, Amid that flush of crimson light, The new moon's modest bow grow bright, As earth and sky grow dark. Few are the hearts too cold to feel A thrill of gladness o'er them steal, When first the wandering eye Sees faintly, in the evening blaze, That glimmering curve of tender rays Just planted in the sky. The sight of that young crescent brings Thoughts of all fair and youthful things -- The hopes of early years; And childhood's purity and grace, And joys that like a rainbow chase The passing shower of tears. The captive yields him to the dream Of freedom, when that virgin beam Comes out upon the air; And painfully the sick man tries To fix his dim and burning eyes On the soft promise there. Most welcome to the lover's sight, Glitters that pure, emerging light; For prattling poets say, That sweetest is the lovers' walk, And tenderest is their murmured talk, Beneath its gentle ray. And there do graver men behold A type of errors, loved of old, Forsaken and forgiven; And thoughts and wishes not of earth, Just opening in their early birth, Like that new light in heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TUOL SLENG: POL POT'S PRISON by KAREN SWENSON THE CATS' MONTH by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SUNDAY UP THE RIVER: 15 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE LORD SPEAKS by KARLE WILSON BAKER TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN ENGLAND'S PRAYER by WILLIAM BLUNDELL ENVY; A FRAGMENT by JANE BOWDLER |