Evenfall At The Gate Poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
Evenfall At The Gate
A rose-shot purple on the sunset hills,
And skies of golden fire;
Silence that like a benediction fills
The hour, save where the lyre
If ocean throbs, in strains that fall and rise,
Against the harbor bar;
Then dusk, and on the brow of Tamalpais
Trembles a single star.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
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4/24/2024 11:36:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Shouldn't the last word, first line be 'hills'?