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 iced 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 splendours 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 returned 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.