Wrathfully in the ruddy West away,1
The sun goes down beyond yon upland field,2
As though he angry were that one more day3
Unto another night is forced to yield.4
Anon the West is broken into bars5
Of orange, amber, gray, and dusky gold ;6
And darkness, stealing on, draws out the stars,7
Their nightly vigil—long and lone—to hold.8
Within yon wood, the last bird-warble fails,9
And all the air, emptied of every sound,10
Inviolate stillness holds. Above, around,11
The calm repose procured of peace prevails12
The calm, the sweet ; and now complete o’er all13
Hath gloomed the dim, the dusky evenfall.14