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32

A SUNSET

I

A warm soft wind from the south-west came,
And blew white cloudlets over the sky;
But the fire of the sunset streamed on high
Till each fleecy cloud was a floating flame.

II

Then as the glory deepened and grew,
The cloudlets vanished; and in their stead
Broad burning bands of resplendent red
Girdled the heaven's vault of blue;—

III

Flushes of passion and joy and pain,
With spaces of halcyon calm between,
Spaces of pale pellucid green,
Peaceful and pure, without stir or stain.

IV

Aflame beneath them the wild waves rolled:
Were they waves of water or waves of light?
Or were sea and sky made one that night
In the western gates of quivering gold?
33

V

Alone on the headland height I lay,
With the sea beneath and the sky above:
And into my heart with yearning love
I drank the light of the dying day;—

VI

I drank the crimson, I drank the blue,
I drank the passion, I drank the peace,
Till the life of my senses seemed to cease,
And the beauty that thrilled me through and through

VII

Caught up my soul and bore it afar
Through the gates of gold to some haven blest,
Where pain is rapture and passion rest,
Where love is light and each soul a star.

VIII

The splendour faded away from the west;
The sky grew pallid and drear and dead;
And the message of Nature was still unsaid;
And the secret of Nature was still unguessed.
34

IX

But my heart has dreamed that the sunset's fire
Was a flush which burned on Nature's cheek,
The flush of a hope which she might not speak,
The flush of a passionate, deep desire.

X

And I know that the light which died away,
In my kindled spirit is glowing yet;
And I know that the sun will never set,
For my love will keep it aflame for aye.

XI

And I guess that the dumbness of Nature's heart
Is the breath, the life, the fire of mine;
That her voiceless deeps are the springs divine
That feed the fountains of song and art;

XII

That because dumb Nature in silence bears
The awful weight of her heart's desires,
The poet dreams and the saint aspires,
The prophet burns and the hero dares.

XIII

Voices of silence! Is this our doom?
When our hearts o'erflow, does each echoed sound
Deepen the stillness that reigns around,
As lightning deepens the midnight gloom?
35

XIV

Have all our melodies, new or old,
One only burden, one last refrain,—
That their voice is hollow, their music vain,
That the pain, the triumph are still untold?

XV

I shall never learn what the sunset meant;
I shall never guess what it strove to say;
Yet a message came from the dying day,
And my heart that heard it is well content.

XVI

And perhaps when our passions surge and throng,
The silence deep of the startled soul,
The silence beyond our thought's control,
Is the truest speech and the sweetest song.
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