 | Valete |  |
163
Star-Rising.
But yester-eve, an eve we cannot know
Till four more years perplex the calendar,
I watched the young Moon's silver scimitar
Hang o'er a world of love, that in the glow,
Of yellow sunset hastened from the blow;
And still fierce Dian in her scythed car
Pursued, but ever still the beauteous star
Flamed to the hills, to sink unharmed below—
Till four more years perplex the calendar,
I watched the young Moon's silver scimitar
Hang o'er a world of love, that in the glow,
Of yellow sunset hastened from the blow;
And still fierce Dian in her scythed car
Pursued, but ever still the beauteous star
Flamed to the hills, to sink unharmed below—
And rise again with splendour: Thou our sun,
Thou too, tho' Death's pale sword pursuing fast
Chased momently thy being out of sight,
Thou hast from that fierce following fled at last,
And clearer for the coming of the night
Thy radiant round of light and love is run.
Thou too, tho' Death's pale sword pursuing fast
Chased momently thy being out of sight,
Thou hast from that fierce following fled at last,
And clearer for the coming of the night
Thy radiant round of light and love is run.
| Valete | |