It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded, Circling all nature, hushd, and dim, and still, With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill Upon the other, and the rosy sky With one star sparkling through it like an eye. ByronDon Juan. Canto II. St. 183.
See! he sinks Without a word; and his ensanguined bier Is vacant in the west, while far and near Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks, Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry Amid thy cloud-built streets. FaberThe Rosary and Other Poems. On the Ramparts at Angoulême.
Oft did I wonder why the setting sun Should look upon us with a blushing face: Ist not for shame of what he hath seen done, Whilst in our hemisphere he ran his race? HeathFirst Century. On the Setting Sun.
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden wand oer the landscape; Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. LongfellowEvangeline. Pt. II. Sec. II.
After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And, touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizons ring, Drops down into the night. LongfellowHanging of the Crane. Pt. VII.
Now in his Palace of the West, Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, Like a tired monarch fannd to rest, Mid the cool airs of Evening lay; While round his couchs golden rim The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept Struggling each others light to dim, And catch his last smile eer he slept. MooreThe Summer Fête. St. 22.
Methought little space tween those hills intervened, But nearer,more lofty,more shaggy they seemed. The clouds oer their summits they calmly did rest, And hung on the ethers invisible breast; Than the vapours of earth they seemed purer, more bright, Oh! could they be clouds? Twas the necklace of night. RuskinThe Iteriad. Sunset at Low-Wood.
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun, How lovely and joyful the course that he run! Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun, And there followed some droppings of rain: But now the fair travellers come to the west, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best; He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest, And foretells a bright rising again. WattsMoral Songs. A Summer Evening.