O RED, red clouds in the westering sky, That are lit with a lamp of gold, The hours are faint, they sleep, they die, The stars are earthward rolled; Make bright day's burial-place, make bright, So it crimson-canopied be -- It dies, and Fancy out of the night Comes down -- comes down to me. O red, red clouds with your glory gone, That are ghostly shapes of gray, My lady dreams by a moon-lit lawn, Away from me -- away; Go down -- go down from the sky, so the gleams Of the moon shine over the sea, And bring the thought of my lady's dreams Over to me -- to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ITALIAN PICTURES: COSTA MAGIC by MINA LOY SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD WHEN I WAS A BIRD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD PICKING AND CHOOSING by MARIANNE MOORE TO A DEAD MAN by CARL SANDBURG THE ARCHITECT (2) by KAREN SWENSON |