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The cloudless day is richer at its close;
     A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
     To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.

And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,

     The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed form the noonday glare, the favour’d sight
     Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.

But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,

     Or fairest lustre fills th’ expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
     Leaves but a hallow’d memory of love!

Закат

День ясный краше на своем исходе,
     Когда поля сиянье золотит;
Прохладу предвещает тень природе
     И морю, что в безмолвии лежит.

В прекрасном свете ласковом таком

     Душа впадает в райское блаженство;
Без яркой броскости, слепящей днем,
     Везде открыто взору совершенство.

Но прежде, чем наполнит роскошь луг

     Иль рощу, что снедает ожиданье,
Темнеет, и минутный вид вокруг
     Нам оставляет лишь воспоминанье!

A Cycle of Verse / Стихотворный цикл

Oceanus

Sometimes I stand upon the shore
Where ocean vaults their effluence pour,
And troubled waters sigh and shriek
Of secrets that they dare not speak.
From nameless valleys far below,
And hills and plains no man may know,
The mystic swells and sullen surges
Hint like accursed thaumaturges
A thousand horrors, big with awe,
That long-forgotten ages saw.
O salt, salt winds, that bleakly sweep
Across the barren heaving deep:
O wild, wan waves, that call to mind

The chaos Earth hath left behind:
Of you I ask one thing alone —
Leave, leave your ancient lore unknown!

Clouds

Of late I climb’d a lonely height
And watch’d the moon-streak’d clouds in flight,
Whose forms fantastic reel’d and whirl’d
Like genii of a spectral world.
Thin cirri veil’d the silv’ry dome
And waver’d like the ocean foam,
While shapes of darker, heavier kind
Scudded before a daemon wind.
Methought the churning vapours took
Now and anon a fearsome look,

As if admist the fog and blur
March’d figures known and sinister.
From west to east the things advanc’d —
A mocking train that leap’d and danc’d
Like Bacchanals with joined hands
In endless file thro’ airy lands.
Aërial mutt’rings, dimly heard,
The comfort of my spirit stirr’d
With hideous thoughts, that bade me screen
My sight from the portentous scene.
“Yon fleeing mists,” the murmurs said,
“Are ghost of hopes, deny’d and dead.”

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