THREE SUNSETS.
193
Awake, awake! The moments fly;
This awful tryst may be the last.
And see! The tear that dimmed her eye
Had fallen on him ere she passed—
She passed; the crimson paled to gray:
And hope departed with the day.
The heavy hours of night went by,
And silence quickened into sound,
And light slid up the eastern, sky,
And life began its daily round—
But life and light for him were fled:
His name was numbered with the dead.
