There comes a moment of the twilight, The red-forged Orb at his vastest Sinking (how swiftly!) behind black-ridged Intricate harbourage of trees, When brilliant beds of flowers, amid the dimness Of warm lawns silently resplendent, Armies of sapphires and of purples, Flame-cups of red gold, quietude Of dusky companies of lilies, Burn with a light not theirs. They utter, they give off a singing vapour, Discompose into rumour as of voices, A troubled ground-swell, every chalice Steamy with a yearning murmur After the descended sun! Something of the late huge riot Of cloud-light, to them bequeathfhd, Dwells on, confused, in them, Thousand by thousand awaiting, Frail-hung lanterns of some gala Invisible. Even so are ye, All standing now at such a moment Smoulderers objectless, uncertain, Artists and priests of all religions, Shapers of clay, sound, colour, Shapers of perfection and of symbol, Shapers of passion and of awe! Hath it gone, last hem of all that glory For which we came to be? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: LOVERIDGE CHASE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A SUMMER SUMMARY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BROTHER BENEDICT by ALFRED AUSTIN ETERNITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE TRUANTS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |