HARK! to the mournful wind; its burden drear Borne over leagues of desert wild and dun, Sinks to a weary cadence of despair, Beyond the closing gateways of the sun. Yon clouds are big with flame, and not with rain, Massed on the marvellous heaven in splendid pyres, Whereon ethereal genii, half in pain And half in triumph, light their fervid fires: Kindled in funeral majesty to rise Above the perished day, whose latest breath Exhaled, a roseate effluence to the skies, Still lingers o'er the pageantry of death. . . . . . One stalwart hill his stern defiant crest Boldly against the horizon line uprears, His blasted pines, smit by the fiery West, Uptowering rank on rank, like Titan spears; Fantastic, bodeful, o'er the rock-strewn ground Casting grim shades beyond the hill slope riven, Which mock the loftier shafts, keen, lustre-crowned And raised as if to storm the courts of Heaven! As sinks the wind, so wane those wondrous lights; Slowly they wane from hill and sky and cloud, While round the woodland waste and glimmering heights The mist of gloaming trails its silvery shroud! Through which, uncertain, vague as shifting ghosts, The forms of all things touched by mystery seem, I walk, methinks, on pale Plutonian coasts, And grope 'mid spectral shadows of a dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 54 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN FRED ENGLEHARDT'S BABY by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS SONG: 2 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A SONG OF THE WESTERN EDEN by HOPE S. BARBER THE SHEEPHERD by JOSEPH BEAUMONT PSALME 137 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MY SOUL by NETTIE STEPHENSON BOWEN AN EPITAPH ON SIR JOHN PROWDE, LIEUTENANT TO CHARLES MORGAN by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |