The Poetry Corner

Fragment II - Sunset

By Victor James Daley

The day and its delights are done; So all delights and days expire: Down in the dim, sad West the sun Is dying like a dying fire. The fiercest lances of his light Are spent; I watch him droop and die Like a great king who falls in fight; None dared the duel of his eye Living, but, now his eye is dim, The eyes of all may stare at him. How lovely in his strength at morn He orbed along the burning blue! The blown gold of his flying hair Was tangled in green-tressd trees, And netted in the river sand In gleaming links of amber clear; But all his shining locks are shorn, His brow of its bright crown is bare, The golden sceptre leaves his hand, And deeper, darker, grows the hue Of the dim purple draperies And cloudy banners round his bier. O beautiful, rose-hearted dawn! O splendid noon of gold and blue! Is this wan glimmer all of you? Where are the blush and bloom ye gave To laughing land and smiling sea? The swift lights that did flash and shiver In diamond rain upon the river, And set a star in each blue wave? Where are the merry lights and shadows That danced through wood and over lawn, And flew across the dewy meadows Like white nymphs chased by satyr lovers? Faded and perished utterly. All delicate and all rich colour In flower and cloud, on lawn and lea, On butterfly, and bird, and bee, A little space and all are gone, And darkness, like a raven, hovers Above the death-bed of the day. . . . . . So, when the long, last night draws on, And all the world grows ghastly gray, We see our beautiful and brave Wither, and watch with heavy sighs The life-light dying in their eyes, The love-light slowly fading out, Leaving no faint hope in their place, But only on each dear wan face The shadow of a weary doubt, The ashen pallor of the grave. O gracious morn and golden noon! With what fair dreams did ye depart, Beloved so well and lost so soon! I could not fold you to my breast: I could not hide you in my heart; I saw the watchers in the West, Sad, shrouded shapes, with hands that wring And phantom fingers beckoning!