Poems (Storrie)/At Sunset
For works with similar titles, see At Sunset.
At Sunset.
A glory of red and yellow! A splendour of grey and pink! We have seen many sunsets, Emily, But never a fairer, I think.
See by the golden gateway Pillars of opal stand, Mark what a spell of silence Lies on the listening land.
See through the parted branches And glimmering trunks of trees, An ocean of amber tintings Melts into pale green seas.
And far on the dim horizon Shadowy hill-points rise Like dark blue tents that a giant Rears 'neath the sunset skies.
List to the silence, Emily! Solemn, profound, complete, For the thick green turf beneath us Muffles the sound of our feet.
Surely the green pastures, Emily, Of which the old Psalmist tells Had just this same vivid verdure And just these same clover-sweet smells.
Surely his dream of still waters Was like this reed-fringed lagoon That lies 'mid the shadows, awaiting The first silver shafts of the moon.
And seeing the beauty, Emily, And knowing the world so fair, It seems like an evil vision— The real hard world of care.
The real hard world of sorrow, The merciless flight of the years, Lit by the flame of passion, Quenched by the dew of tears.
Memory's arrows are blunted, They lose their power to sting, Regret, like a brooding night-bird, Folds up her sombre wing.
What if this life is fleeting? What if its joys are dross? Shall we grow rich by slowly Counting its gain and loss?
Surely we'll find repayment In joys that can cost us nought, Not a king nor a sage can rob us Of the sunset gold we have caught.
Take what the gods have sent us, Skies like a fairy dream, Heed not old words of wisdom, Things shall be what they seem.
Friends shall be true and trusty, Love shall be without end, And we shall find in each other Happiness still, my friend.
You know of old, dead stories, You know of dreams long past; Love may be false and fleeting, But yours and mine shall last.
You start and you tremble, Emily, At sudden, wild shrieks overhead—Only a cockatoo flying, With wide, white wings outspread.
Then, perched on the highest gum tree, Outlined by the glowing west, You will see a curving pinion And an upright, yellow crest.
Many a time, my Emily, We have watched the daylight fade Till, softly, evening wrapped us In cool, grey swathes of shade.
Never a friend like you, Emily, Never a heart so true, Not all the wise men of the east, dear, Were half so wise as you.
A man may be glum or merry, Or foolish or overwise,But with all his moods and tenses You silently sympathise.
And whenever my heart grows bitter And cries for the sweet, old days, I come to you, and at sunset We wander by dim, green ways.
Friendship may be only a myth, dear, Love may be nought but a snare, But you're a reality, Emily— My little, brown, thoroughbred mare.