FROM the oriels, one by one, Slowly fades the setting sun; On the marge of afternoon Stands the new-born crescent moon; In the twilight's crimson glow Dim the quiet alcoves grow; Drowsy-lidded Silence smiles On the long, deserted aisles; Out of every shadowy nook Spirit faces seem to look, Some with smiling eyes, and some With a sad entreaty dumb; -- He who shepherded his sheep On the wild Sicilian steep, He above whose grave are set Sprays of Roman violet; -- Poets, sages -- all who wrought In the crucible of thought. Day by day as seasons glide On the great eternal tide, Noiselessly they gather thus In the twilight beauteous, Hold communion each with each, Closer than our earthly speech, Till within the east are born Premonitions of the morn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN WALKED BUD WITH A PALETTE by CLARENCE MAJOR PORTRAIT OF A MOTOR CAR by CARL SANDBURG MOZART'S REQUIEM by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS JUGGLING JERRY by GEORGE MEREDITH AUTHOR TO HIS CHILD by FRANCES AIRTH LINES ON THE DEATH OF PHILIP MEADOWS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |