Now in his Palace of the West,
Sinking to slumber, the bright Day,
Like a tired monarch read more

Now in his Palace of the West,
Sinking to slumber, the bright Day,
Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest,
'Mid the cool airs of Evening lay;
While round his couch's golden rim
The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept--
Struggling each other's light to dim,
And catch his last smile e'er he slept.

The sun was down,
And all the west was paved with sullen fire.
I cried, "Behold! the read more

The sun was down,
And all the west was paved with sullen fire.
I cried, "Behold! the barren beach of hell
At ebb of tide."

Oft did I wonder why the setting sun
Should look upon us with a blushing face:
Is't read more

Oft did I wonder why the setting sun
Should look upon us with a blushing face:
Is't not for shame of what he hath seen done,
Whilst in our hemisphere he ran his race?

The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
read more

The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
read more

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he read more

How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run!
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,
And there followed some droppings of rain:
But now the fair traveller's come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
read more

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth.

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the read more

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from
Sinai.