The glaring pavement spread beneath, o’erhead
A brazen, cloudless sky—all living things
Had gasped, with parching lips, and feebly prayed
For night.
’Twas eventide; the northern hills
Breathed forth a blessing on the multitude
That thronged incessant through the city gates.
Softly the mist crept forth, and o’er their heads
Her dewy wings unfolded. In the west
The molten brass of noontide turned to gold,