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Thomas Cole's poetry

the collected poems of America's foremost painter of the Hudson River School reflecting his feelings for nature and the romantic spirit of the Nineteenth Century

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67. A Sunset
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140

67.
A Sunset

I saw a glory in the etherial deep;
A Glory such as from the higher heaven
Must have descended. Earth does never keep
In its embrace such beauty. Clouds were driven
As by the breath of God into strange forms
Unearthly, and did burn with living flames
And hues so bright, so wonderful and rare
That mortal language cannot give them names:
And light and shadow strangely linked their arms
In lovliness; and all continual were
In change; and with each change there came new charms.
Nor orient pearls, nor flowers alive with dew,
Nor golden tinctures, nor the insect's wing,
Nor dyes purpureal for imperial view
Nor all that Art creates, or mortals bring
Can e'er compare with what the heavens unfurled.
These are the wings of Angels! I exclaimed,
Stretched in their mystic beauty o'er the world!
Let us give thanks to God that in his love
He grants such glimpses of the world above,
That we poor pilgrims on this darkling sphere
Beyond its shadows can our hopes uprear.
Catskill October, 1843