 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
EVENING.
EVENING has come! the distant hills grow dimIn lengthened shadows, and the vesper-hymn
Of flute-voiced warblers falls upon mine ear
In thrilling melody;—yet, lingering here,
I meditate. The setting sun's last ray
Falls mildly-brilliant over wood and stream;
'Tis gone! but mark the day-god's golden way.
Can fair Italia's boasted sunsets beam
With richer glories? All the western sky
Seems lit by flame! with living fire each cloud
Is tipped! the glorious brilliancy
Of Iris shines in all, and lights the proud,
Majestic city's domes that rise below,
Till spire and turret high with answering splendor glow.
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |