But when through the field of heaven The wings of storm take flight, At a touch of the flying shadows They falter and slip from sight.
Until at the gray day's ending, As the squadrons of cloud retire, They pass in the triumph of sunset With banners of crimson fire.
Lo, now, the journeying sun, Another day's march done, Kindles his campfire at the edge of night! And in the twilight pale Above his crimson trail, The stars move out their cordons still and bright.
Now in the darkening hush A solitary thrush Sings on in silvery rapture to the deep; While brooding on her best, The wandering soul has rest, And earth receives her sacred gift of sleep.
All day long beneath the sun Shining through the fields they run,
Singing in a cadence known To the seraphs round the throne.
And the traveller drawing near Through the meadow, halts to hear
Anthems of a natural joy No disaster can destroy.
All night long from set of sun Through the starry woods they run,
Singing through the purple dark Songs to make a traveller hark.
All night long, when winds are low, Underneath my window go
The immortal happy streams, Making music through my dreams.
Here all the forces of the wood As one converge, To make the soul of solitude Where all things merge.
The sun, the rain-wind, and the rain, The visiting moon, The hurrying cloud by peak and plain, Each with its boon.
Here power attains perfection still In mighty ease, That the great earth may have her will Of joy and peace.
And so through me, the mortal born Of plasmic clay, Immortal powers, kind, fierce, forlorn, And glad, have sway.
Eternal passions, ardors fine, And monstrous fears, Rule and rebel, serene, malign, Or loosed in tears;
Until at last they shall evolve From griefs and joys Some steady light, some firm resolve, Some Godlike poise.
Now the stars have faded In the purple chill, Lo, the sun is kindling On the eastern hill.
Tree by tree the forest Takes the golden tinge, As the shafts of glory Pierce the summit's fringe.
Rock by rock the ledges Take the rosy sheen, As the tide of splendor Floods the dark ravine.
Like a shining angel At my cabin door, Shod with hope and silence, Day is come once more.
Then, as if in sorrow That you are not here, All his magic beauties Gray and disappear.