TO-NIGHT a crimson sun With no attendants by Goes down in lonely splendor An orange waste of sky. Never in all the years Garbed thus will he go from me: Red is the sea-gull's wing And blood-red is the sea. Never again will the clouds Group in this austere way; Never again will love Be as it is to-day; Never again will the waves Break as now on the shore: Nothing in earth or heaven Comes as it came before. High Beauty will never return In the same hood and gown, Whether the rose grows red Or the old oak burns brown, Or the blue rain dances swiftly Down the green-aisled sea, Or whether on gray, winding roads My love walks with me. |