The sun set late; and left along the west
A furious ruby; o’er which billowy snows
Of clouds unrolled; each cloud a mighty breast
Blooming with almond-rose.
The sun set late; and wafts of wind beat down,
And cuffed the blossoms from the blossoming quince;
Scattered the petals of the poppy’s crown,
And made the clover wince.
By dusking forests, through whose fretful boughs
In flying fragments shot the evening’s flame,
Adown the tangled lane the quiet cows
With dreamy tinklings came.
The sun set late; but scarcely had he gone
When o’er the moon’s gold-litten crescent there,
Bright Phosphor, polished as a precious stone,
Burned in fair deeps of air.
As from faint stars the glory waned and waned,
The crickets made the old-time garden shrill;
Beyond the luminous pasture-lands complained
The first far whippoorwill.