Sunset Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

All hail! thou gorgeous sunset,
With thy gold and purple clouds,
Tinting the vast horizon,
Like shadowy, fleecy shrouds.

The mountain crests are glowing,
The hills are crimson dyed,
The very air seems blushing,
Bathed in thy amber tide.

Soon the twilight shadows falling
Will thy glory chase away,
And weary man will welcome
The closing of the day.

Then the moon in silvery brightness,
Will show her pale, sad face;
And the stars as her attendants,
Will stud infinite space.

Low down amid the valley
Soon we'll hear the night-bird's song,
Calling softly to the south wind,
That the day of toil is done.

Then hail! thou glorious sunset,
Who in fullness can portray
The varied, wondrous beauty
Of a summer's sunset day.