Classic Poem

Ah ! the sun — the sun is setting,
And the rocks are rimmed with gold;
Darker yet the shades are getting
In the whispering pine-wood old;

And the fairy-light is fleeting
From the white sand on the shore;
And the weary ebb is beating
Faint retreat with muffled roar.

Up the wreck the waves are leaping, —
Tiny, mocking, impish crew!
Children base! their revel keeping
O'er the foe their father slew;

And the foul things, darkly winging,
Dart from forth the hidden cleft;
And, of all the day was bringing,
But the morrow's hope is left.

Yet the spirit knows no fearing,
Tho' its hour of joy hath been;
Light without is disappearing:
Kindle up, thou light within!