Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Sunset

Sunset.

It is the hour when winds and wavesScarce heave one sigh around their caves;It is the hour to musing sweet,When sun, and sea, in glory meet.The sinking orb seems in his flightPausing, to bid the world good-night;No funeral waters o'er him swell,And peal afar his parting knell;But though he's gone beneath the sea,A pensive glow like memory,That beauteous light of suns long set,In softened radiance lingers yet.