I

The solemn, soundless music
Of the sun’s setting reverberates
Along the low red cloud-reefs,

And the last echoing reflections
Of his great incandescence
Diminish among the mountain-tops,

As the sky’s ebbing harmonies
Die down in modulations
Of gold and red to red-gold,

Old gold, pale gold, gold-veiled
Lingering pearl-greyness,
Grey silence of sleep.

The mountains stand round about
Like sable-vestured chorus,
Until they are swallowed up
In the all-encompassing dark.