 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
77
2. Sept. 5, 1891.
In the Lock-Cut: Old Windsor.
Great purple clouds in the western sky,
Hung thick o'er a blaze of golden white,
And below that glory there seems to lie,
A cushion of silver: not so bright
But it dulls to a grey that entombs the day
And heralds the march of night.
Hung thick o'er a blaze of golden white,
And below that glory there seems to lie,
A cushion of silver: not so bright
But it dulls to a grey that entombs the day
And heralds the march of night.
One tree hides a third of the gorgeous west,—
A disk of black is its dusky growth—
Yet not hides: nay perhaps displays at best
Through the chinks which it opens, nothing loth:
While its outline bold cuts silver and gold,
And heightens the blaze of both.
A disk of black is its dusky growth—
Yet not hides: nay perhaps displays at best
Through the chinks which it opens, nothing loth:
While its outline bold cuts silver and gold,
And heightens the blaze of both.
And up to the glory of golden white,
With the purple above and the silver below,
There's a river lane that is darkly bright,
Softly and smoothly and quietly aglow,
Blue willows beside it, night hasting to hide it,
Day sorry to let it go.
With the purple above and the silver below,
There's a river lane that is darkly bright,
Softly and smoothly and quietly aglow,
Blue willows beside it, night hasting to hide it,
Day sorry to let it go.
The tree grows blacker, the night falls fast,
And purple and silver and white must fade:
But something was shown us which can't but last:
Has a song been sung? has a play been played?
Has a lesson been taught, or was all for naught?
Well—nothing endures like the past.
And purple and silver and white must fade:
But something was shown us which can't but last:
Has a song been sung? has a play been played?
Has a lesson been taught, or was all for naught?
Well—nothing endures like the past.
| Quo Musa Tendis? | |