War Drums (Scharkie)/Sonnet (A purple glory bathes the western sky)
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SONNET.
A purple glory bathes the western sky,
E'er yet night's shadows sleep along the hills.
Vesperian winds beat time, low-plaintively,
To plash and murmur of soft-singing rills.
The lark's sweet pipe has ceased its latest song;
The bee is cradled in the bud; and far,
Cold glittering lights, the azure curtain, throng—
Planet on beaming planet, star on star.
On sermons deep, fit time to feast the soul.
Night, standing on her starry pulpit, free,
Utters them in the dread, the silver roll
Of spheres, woods, winds and waves, alternately—
Touching the infinite, else far and untrod,
With oracles divine that speak of God.
E'er yet night's shadows sleep along the hills.
Vesperian winds beat time, low-plaintively,
To plash and murmur of soft-singing rills.
The lark's sweet pipe has ceased its latest song;
The bee is cradled in the bud; and far,
Cold glittering lights, the azure curtain, throng—
Planet on beaming planet, star on star.
On sermons deep, fit time to feast the soul.
Night, standing on her starry pulpit, free,
Utters them in the dread, the silver roll
Of spheres, woods, winds and waves, alternately—
Touching the infinite, else far and untrod,
With oracles divine that speak of God.