Behind the bastions of the darkened hills1
Sinks down, in shining rifts, the glowing sun,2
Within whose reddened shrine our fancies run,3
And wake in saga-songs and passion-thrills.4
Low in the brakes, the softness which instils5
Deep peace ; a breeze that rocks the woodland bowers6
To dewy rest ; and quivers of perfumes7
Break on the air till heart and memory fills !8
But, lo ! as gazing on the wondrous scenes9
Of shifting change, from gold to purple rare,10
The stately night, inexorable, fair,11
With gloomier grandeur hushes ‘ might-have-beens ;’12
And, like to Death, slays life, to wake in being13
A Presence that has Life beyond our seeing !14