 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
152
OCCIDENTE.
How coldly sets this winter sun—The bitter day is wellnigh done;
Forlorn December fares, with one
Sad smile of last regret.
Thus from thy brief and wintry day,
O Soul! the sunshine ebbs away:
Thus falls on thee the frozen ray,
That lingers wanly yet:
Thus dies—how fringed with icy gold,
The clouds above yon mountain rolled!
Behind whose summit, dark and cold,
This winter sun has set.
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