A Sunset Fancy

Wide in the west a lake
Of flame that seems to shake
As if the Midgard snake
Deep down did breathe:
An isle of purple glow,
Where rosy rivers flow
Down peaks of cloudy snow
With fire beneath.

And there the Tower-of-Night,
With windows all a-light,
Frowns on a burning height,
Wherein she sleeps,--
Young through the years of doom,--
Veiled with her hair’s gold gloom,
She, the Valkyrie, whom
Enchantment keeps.