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Alexander Smith
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.
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Alexander Smith
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.
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Bayard Ruskin
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.
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Bayard Ruskin
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.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
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Isaac Watts
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.
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Isaac Watts
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.
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J.K. Hoyt
Forming and breaking in the sky, I fancy all shapes are there; Temple, mountain, monument, spire; Ships rigged out with sails of fire, And blown by the evening air.
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J.K. Hoyt
Forming and breaking in the sky, I fancy all shapes are there; Temple, mountain, monument, spire; Ships rigged out with sails of fire, And blown by the evening air.
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John Milton
And the gilded car of day, His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream.
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John Milton
And the gilded car of day, His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream.
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Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron)
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.
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Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron)
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.
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Lyman Heath
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?
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Lyman Heath
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?
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Rev. Frederick William Faber
See! he sinks Without a word; and his ensanguined bier Is vacant in the west, while far and near Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks, Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry Amid thy cloud-built streets.
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Rev. Frederick William Faber
See! he sinks Without a word; and his ensanguined bier Is vacant in the west, while far and near Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks, Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry Amid thy cloud-built streets.
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