Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Setting Sun
The Setting Sun.
That setting sun! that setting sun!
What scenes, since first its race begun,
Of varied hue its eye hath seen,
Which are as they had never been.
What scenes, since first its race begun,
Of varied hue its eye hath seen,
Which are as they had never been.
That setting sun! full many a gaze
Hath dwelt upon its fading rays
With sweet, according thought sublime,
In every age and every clime!
Hath dwelt upon its fading rays
With sweet, according thought sublime,
In every age and every clime!
'Tis sweet to mark thee, sinking slow
The ocean's fabled caves below;
And when th' obscuring night is done,
To see thee rise, sweet setting sun.
The ocean's fabled caves below;
And when th' obscuring night is done,
To see thee rise, sweet setting sun.
So, when my pulses cease to play,
Serenely close my evening ray,
To rise again, death's slumber done,
Glorious like thee, sweet setting sun!
Serenely close my evening ray,
To rise again, death's slumber done,
Glorious like thee, sweet setting sun!