Classic Poem

Toward sunset this November day, so stilled
And acquiescent in the year's decline,
I, riding slowly homeward, saw the sky
Transfigured as by beneficence fulfilled.
Thus Nature's countenance. The thought was merely mine.
Cloud streaks and shoals, like silver wings outspread,
Spanned innocent serenities of blue,
As though, enharmonised with life below,
Some heavenly minded message had been said.
Thus, childlike, I imagined. Yet it might be true.