ROUND the December heights the clouds are gray -- Gray, and wind-driven toward the stormy west, They fly, like phantoms of malign unrest, To fade in sombre distances away. A flickering brightness o'er the wreck of day, Twilight, like some sad maiden, grief-oppressed, Broods wanly on the farthest mountain crest; All nature breathes of darkness and decay Now from low meadow land and drowsy stream. From deep recesses of the silent vale, Night-wandering vapors rise formless and chill, When, lo! o'er shrouded wood and shadowy hill, I mark the eve's victorious planet beam, Fair as an angel clad in silver mail! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUMMER MATURES by HELENE JOHNSON THE ALLEY. AN IMITATION OF SPENSER by ALEXANDER POPE SPANISH WINGS: SENORITA by H. BABCOCK A RONDEAU OF REGRETS by HENRI BAUDE A SUMMER DAY by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING |