Long on the wave reflected lustres play.

Long on the wave reflected lustres play.

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

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

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.

Methought little space 'tween those hills intervened,
But nearer,--more lofty,--more shaggy they seemed.
The clouds o'er their read more

Methought little space 'tween those hills intervened,
But nearer,--more lofty,--more shaggy they seemed.
The clouds o'er their summits they calmly did rest,
And hung on the ether's invisible breast;
Than the vapours of earth they seemed purer, more bright,--
Oh! could they be clouds? 'Twas the necklace of night.

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.

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.

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 sacred lamp of day
Now dipt in western clouds his parting day.

The sacred lamp of day
Now dipt in western clouds his parting day.

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.