“Saw beneath us standing lonely that grave bird that never sings,
Like a solemn sentry guarding by the giant tombs of kings.
“And I think it would be sunset when our journeying was done,
And the silver of your plumage would be crimsoned in the sun;
“In a pleasant land of palm-trees, where the lotus lilies grow,
And the fruits of many flood-tides by the river borders blow;
“There forgetting and forgotten, and not any one to hear,
I would sing to you, that sing not, all the winter of the year.”
Brighter burn the stars and colder, twilight deepens into night,
Moans the wind among the willows, and the swans fade out of sight.
DAY’S END.
We watched how robed in royal red
The slow sun sailed to rest,
Through crimson cloud streaks islandèd
In seas of glory o’er the west,
I held your hand, and I heard you say,
“What have we done for the world to-day?”
While still the mountain-heather glowed
All songs were hushed, and through
The twilight east the young moon showed
Her frail white crescent in the blue;
The silence sank profound and deep,
The ways of earth were full of sleep;
And the spirit of silence seemed to say,
“What have ye done for the world to-day?”