Clouds

I know not whither past the crimson zone
Of evening sail those ships of snow and gold —
The beauteous clouds that seem to hover and fold
Their wings — like birds that having all day flown
Against the blue sky, now at set of sun
Play for a moment gayly on their soft
And burnished pinions wide: then from aloft
Sink down below the horizon and are gone!
I know not where they fold their shining wings
In very truth; nor what far happy land
They come together in — a radiant band,
The brightest, purest, of all earthly things!
But well I know that land lies broad and fair
Beyond the evening: Oh! that I were there!