Sunset

From this windy bridge at rest,     In some former curious hour,     We have watched the city's hue,     All along the orange west,     Cupola and pointed tower,     Darken into solid blue.     Tho' the biting north wind breaks     Full across this drifted hold,     Let us stand with icd cheeks     Watching westward as of old;     Past the violet mountain-head     To the farthest fringe of pine,     Where far off the purple-red     Narrows to a dusky line,     And the last pale splendors die     Slowly from the olive sky;     Till the thin clouds wear away     Into threads of purple-gray,     And the sudden stars between     Brighten in the pallid green;     Till above the spacious east,     Slow returnd one by one,     Like pale prisoners released     From the dungeons of the sun,     Capella and her train appear     In the glittering Charioteer;     Till the rounded moon shall grow     Great above the eastern snow,     Shining into burnished gold;     And the silver earth outrolled,     In the misty yellow light,     Shall take on the width of night.