THIS feast-day of the sun, his altar there In the broad west has blazed for vesper-song; And I have loitered in the vale too long And gaze now a belated worshipper. Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware, So journeying, of his face at intervals Transfigured where the fringed horizon falls,-- A fiery bush with coruscating hair. And now that I have climbed and won this height, I must tread downward through the sloping shade And travel the bewildered tracks till night. Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed And see the gold air and the silver fade And the last bird fly into the last light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUINED MAID by THOMAS HARDY ECHOES: 6 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY BALL'S BLUFF; A REVERIE by HERMAN MELVILLE FIREFLY; A SONG by ELIZABETH MADOX ROBERTS EPITAPH by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE BIRDS: THE BIRDS' LIFE by ARISTOPHANES THE COMPLAINT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |