Or pool the fisher knows right well,--
Seen by the red and livid glow
Of pine-torch at his vessel's bow.

This dreamy Indian summer-day
Attunes the soul to tender sadness:
We love, but joy not in the ray,--
It is not summer's fervid gladness,
But a melancholy glory
Hov'ring brightly round decay,
Like swan that sings her own sad story,
Ere she floats in death away.

The day declines.--What splendid dyes,
In flicker'd waves of crimson driven,
Float o'er the saffron sea, that lies
Glowing within the western heaven!
Ah, it is a peerless even!
See, the broad red sun has set,
But his rays are quivering yet
Through nature's veil of violet,
Streaming bright o'er lake and hill;
But earth and forest lie so still--
We start, and check the rising tear,
'Tis beauty sleeping on her bier.



LIFE IN THE CLEARINGS