Sunset on the hills; with dark below, The wooded slopes. The evening glow Blinds where the river-flood runs wide, Lifts pink and pearl from the other side; And the woods run down to the splendid stain Of the river-brim to live again. One lone canoe drifts idly by With the sure stroke sweeping back fitfully, Presaging portents dire and black From the tangled reaches of Hackensack. The slopes stand bare on the darker side Where the clearing spreads, brave, clean and wide, And the timbers pile in close redoubt Near where the home-lights twinkle out. The new post held, the new vows sworn In the old, old faith—and the town is born. How the spirit kindles, how greatly goes Thro' urgent years, the Passaic knows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVERS' INFINITENESS by JOHN DONNE WOODNOTES: 2 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR ON IMAGINATION by PHILLIS WHEATLEY CHELSEA by LILLIAN M. (PETTES) AINSWORTH |