When sunset visions o’er its bosom creep
As o’er a couch of rose;
So, sometimes, the bright Caspian of the soul
Is sudden hushed and stilled,
As with the glow of some wild hope as goal
Its trancéd depths are filled.
“Maid of the twilight eyes! that musest late
What star breaks on thy brow
With the resplendence of a Heavenly Gate,
Greeting its angel now?”