I DON'T want to think about 'the meaning,'. I don't want to think fine thoughts at all! On the great heather cushions leaning, I'm watching the sunset, that is all! Why should I puzzle and tease with questions, When Nature shows me her picture-book? I will leave her to make her own suggestions, And just do nothing, but sit and look. I have finished the work of a busy season, And I want to quiet a busy brain, Now is the time for rest (in reason), Before I begin a new campaign. And oh, it is rest, and most delicious, To know that I need not speak a word; By only the midges (most officious!) Could anything here be overheard. @3Isn't@1 it nice! The bracken browning Is almost gold in the autumn glow, And the silver birch, with the same fair crowning, Gleams like a streak of glistening snow. The sweet south air is so soft and quiet, Stealing along through the fern to me, After the most uncivil riot Of his cousin from over the western sea. The broad blaze hides all the fresh-foldings, Under the flood of sunset light, And touches anew all the quarry mouldings Of the eastern hills with its gilding bright. The clouds are hanging a cool grey curtain, Up in the north till the sun gets low; Only biding their time, and certain Then to flaunt in a crimson show. Slowly, slowly the sun is sinking, Silence and glory are everywhere! No more writing, and no more thinking, Only rest in the golden air! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TIME THE HANGMAN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY by JOHN DONNE THE SOWER AND HIS SEED by WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA by ALEXANDER POPE A VALENTINE by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS WE ARE SEVEN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE CLOUDED SOUL by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |