When I behold yon arch magnificent
Spanning the gorgeous West, the autumnal bed
Where the great Sun now hides his weary head,
With here and there a purple isle, that rent
From that huge cloud, their solid continent,
Seems floating in a sea of golden light,
A fire is kindled in my musing sprite,
And Fancy whispers, such the glories lent
To this our mortal life: most glowing fair
But built on clouds, and melting while we gaze.
Yet since those shadowy lights sure witness bear
Of One not seen, the undying Sun and Source
Of good and fair, who wisely them surveys,
Will use them well to cheer his heavenward course.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.