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.