Sunset

THE sun is setting — not in colours gay,
But pure as when he blazed with noon-day heat ;
The upland path is gold before my feet,
Save where long, dancing, poplar-shadows play,
Or arching lindens cast a broader grey:
This radiant hour, when peace and passion meet,
Stirs with tumultuous breezes, freshly sweet,
The odorous languor of an August day.
Above is peace ; below is gleeful strife ;
Aflame with sunshine, battling with the wind,
The trees rejoice in plenitude of life :
A sea of light is sleeping in the west,
Untroubled light, o'erflowing heart and mind
With that empyreal rapture, which is rest.