Poems (Toke)/Sunset in autumn

by Emma Toke

SUNSET IN AUTUMN.

S sweet to me, at evening's hour,
 To gaze upon the glowing west,
And watch the Autumn sun once more
 In peaceful glory sink to rest:

For though no more his golden beams
 Illume young Summer's laughing bowers,
As bright his parting lustre streams
 On yellow leaves and fading flowers.

Yes, glorious orb! 'mid death and gloom,
 While Nature's worn and weary frame
Seems sinking to her yearly tomb,
 Thou art unchanging and the same.

Thousands of years have passed away,
 Yet, Lord of time, thou beamest on,
Bright as when first thy dawning ray
 On young Creation's morning shone.

And now thy radiance streams once more
 On yonder woods all sere and brown,
Which Autumn's hand hath mantled o'er,
 With mournful beauty all her own.

It glances on the mountain's crest,
 And shines upon the fading leaves;
Falls on the water's sparkling breast,
 And gilds each ripple as it heaves.

And yet, 'tis sad to see that beam
 Smile on the wan and pallid flowers,
And gild again, with transient gleam,
 The wreck of Summer's joyous hours.

The falling leaves bestrew my path,
 The earth her garb of mourning wears:
And e'en the breeze's whispering breath
 A tone of gentle sadness bears.

It is a melancholy hour;—
 Oh! who on such an Autumn day
Jut deeply feels the oppressive power
 Of Nature's touching, calm decay?

Silent and still she sinks to rest,
 Majestic in her hour of woe;
And soon upon her dreary breast
 Will fall the shroud of wintry snow.

But all unmoved, though reft and lorn,
 She stands to meet her yearly doom;
And calmly waits, till Spring's bright morn
 Shall burst upon her icy tomb.

For see! amid the wreck of all
 Which decked awhile her glorious fame,
Brightly the changeless sunbeams full,
 A pledge that she shall rise again.

Yes, summer suns again shall shine,
 And verdant woods and laughing flowers
Shall deck thy form, O earth! and twine
 Their wreaths around thy leafless bowers.

But who that saw thee fade, may see
 Thy bright return of beauty then?
It recks not, if they die like thee,
 To bloom in purer life again.

E.

October 27, 1834.