Around the dusky brow of night The sunset bound a fillet bright, And like a priestess at a pyre, She knelt beside the altar fire. From dim cathedrals of the hills The mingled chant of winds and rills Rose softly on the evening air, The solemn vesper rites to share. Slow died the altar's flame of gold; The face of night, bright aureoled, In shadow dimmed, as, kneeling low, She watched the embers' fading glow. The chanting winds grew still; the brooks Fell silent in the forest nooks; And down the world's vast aisles night went With folded arms and soul content! |