HOW tender and how slow, in sunset's cheer, Far on the hill, our quiet treetops fade! A broidery of northern seaweed, laid Long in a book, were scarce more fine and clear. Frost, and sad light, and windless atmosphere Have breathed on them, and of their frailties made Beauty more sweet than summer's builded shade, Whose green domes fall, to bring this wonder here. O ye forgetting and outliving boughs, With not a plume, gay in the jousts before, Left for the Archer! so, in evening's eye, So stilled, so lifted, let your lover die, Set in the upper calm no voices rouse, Stript, meek, withdrawn, against the heavenly door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN by PHILIP FRENEAU NO LONGER COULD I DOUBT HIM TRUE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR MY MARYLAND by JAMES RYDER RANDALL MURMURINGS IN A FIELD HOSPITAL by CARL SANDBURG QUATRAIN: FROM EASTERN SOURCES: 1 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 28. WATERLOO by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |