 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
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SUNSET
The early sunset occupies the entire
Variety of heav'n with various dyes,
Enough to glorify a hundred skies.
Far west five lines of crimson and of fire
I count, rigid and straight as if of wire,
Like a fan, first with shell-like bands doth rise
Something of silvery texture, to surprise
The spaces overhead, and what is higher
By changing sudden into many a fleece
Faint flush'd with unimaginable rose,
That slowly steels itself with sternest blue.
The heav'n is peaceful with an ominous peace
As of a nation waiting for its throes,
And feeling strong enough to see things through.
| The Finding of The Book and Other Poems | |