Sunset- That Wayside Nook, and the Dying Sun
That wayside beatific nook,
With a crimson seraphic look;
Silhouetted against a dying sun,
Like dying embers of a satiny run;
Every twig lunging an officious bow,
For a kiss of the pasture lain below;
Hark, the trill of the melodious lark!
Clung to the bevel of the bare bark;
A raised horizon owing to an incumbent brow,
Dwelled by the shades in a nascent grow;
That divulge the affair of that distant west,
Of the sun avid for a nightlong rest;
And sink to the deepest of the longing horizon,
Unmet, tho’ for an evanescent crest!
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