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...THEN AND NOW by CECIL DAY LEWIS LOVELIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SUICIDE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |