118
AT SUNSET.
From green to gold, from gold to amethyst,
Transmuted by the sun's last lingering ray,
The tranquil hills in dreaming silence lay,
Wrought to a beauty eye could not resist;
Till, folded in with veils of purple mist
That slowly wrapt them from reluctant day,
They mingled with the dusk and flowed away,
Renewing with the stars their nightly tryst.
And as the soft enchantments round us spread,
And twilight with its pensive shadows fell—
Loosed from the prison-wards of care and dread,
Lured from our selfish griefs by beauty's spell—
Along dim thoroughfares our thoughts were led
To haunts of peace where love and silence dwell.
