A Sunset

Far in the gold-embroidered west
The round and red sun lay,
Like a great wound upon the breast
Of the slow-dying day.

Night, and a murmur from the east;
I heard the wind's voice roll
Out of the dark, a solemn priest,
Speeding the day's white soul.

by Charles Hanson Towne

Other poems of CHARLES HANSON TOWNE (106)

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