The sunset sky burns deep and red beyond The massy oakwoods as they fade into That opaque green which is night's very hue, So dark, so full of quiet. Every frond And mighty verdure-vested branch hath donned Dim raiment of great shadow. 'Tis a view, Quick with some sovran charm, to be by you Remembered, and perpetually re-conned. The perfect silence, the vast lonesomeness, The cool, the glow, the breath of evening, Scarce tinged with a faint scent of blossomed spring, Scarce thrilled with a vague sense of something sad, Are they not sweet, and shall you not confess That such dear pathos maketh almost glad? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE FOR THE BURIAL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE CHILDREN by CHARLES MONROE DICKINSON THE INDIAN WEED by RALPH ERSKINE THE WILLIAM P. FRYE [FEBRUARY 28, 1915] by JEANNE ROBERT FOSTER GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE WATCH OF A SWAN by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT FRIDAY NIGHT by ISIDORE G. ASCHER HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 13 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |