A Sunset

Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting,

There a brief while the globe of splendour sits

       &nbspAnd seems a creature of the earth; but soon

       &nbsp       &nbspMore changeful than the Moon,

To wane fantastic his great orb submits,

Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking slowly

Even to a star at length he lessens wholly.





Abrupt, as Spirits vanish, he is sunk!

A soul-like breeze possesses all the wood.

       &nbspThe boughs, the sprays have stood

As motionless as stands the ancient trunk!

But every leaf through all the forest flutters,

And deep the cavern of the fountain mutters.