An Autumnal Dirge

Pale shines the sun through azure-lidded clouds That softly float in ambient light arrayed, And a dull, shadowy gloom anon enshrouds The leafless forest and the opening glade.

No sound is heard save the soft-chanting waves Low murmuring on the shadowy-mantled sea, And the sad, moaning dirges in their caves Struggling, like fettered spirits, to get free.

But as the day declines, the slanting beams In mellow lustre shine so calm and pure; A radiant flood of sunset glory streams, That lovelier grows and lovelier grows obscure.

Thus passed the day through Hesper’s gates of gold, Hushing in wonder-like repose the earth, Proclaiming, with its colors, bright and bold, The tidings of a glorious morrow’s birth.

Ah! many a life like this, in dark despair Is doomed to bear the burden of its sorrow, But in its sunset depths a beauty rare Foretells the dawning of a happy morrow.

Let us be patient,—life has many woes, And hopes like autumn leaves fall thick and fast; But a dark day has oft a beauteous close, And a sweet dawn is the reward at last.