FROM the oriels, one by one, Slowly fades the setting sun; On the marge of afternoon Stands the new-born crescent moon; In the twilight's crimson glow Dim the quiet alcoves grow; Drowsy-lidded Silence smiles On the long, deserted aisles; Out of every shadowy nook Spirit faces seem to look, Some with smiling eyes, and some With a sad entreaty dumb; -- He who shepherded his sheep On the wild Sicilian steep, He above whose grave are set Sprays of Roman violet; -- Poets, sages -- all who wrought In the crucible of thought. Day by day as seasons glide On the great eternal tide, Noiselessly they gather thus In the twilight beauteous, Hold communion each with each, Closer than our earthly speech, Till within the east are born Premonitions of the morn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER by ROBERT BROWNING ONLY A WOMAN by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK BUILDING BLOCKS by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN |