This dawn, through which the Autumn glowers,--
As might a face within our sleep,
With stone-gray eyes that weep and weep,
And wet brows bound with sodden flowers,--
Is sunset to some sister land;
A land of ruins and of palms;
Rich sunset, crimson with long calms,--
Whose burning belt low mountains bar,--
That sees some brown Rebecca stand
Beside a well the camel-band
Winds down to 'neath the evening star.
O sunset, sister to this dawn!
O dawn, whose face is turned away!
Who gazest not upon this day,
But back upon the day that's gone!
Enamored so of loveliness,
The retrospect of what thou wast,
Oh, to thyself the present trust!
And as thy past be beautiful
With hues, that never can grow less!
Waiting thy pleasure to express
New beauty lest the world grow dull.