Classic Poem

Farewell — the time is come: the sky is red;
Between the pines, across the crimson tide,
Against the bright heart of the west we glide —
From isle to misty isle our way we thread
By sound and mazy narrow; overhead
The last ray glows along the mountain side;
The snowy peaks are flashing far and wide
Their fiery signal that the day is dead.

The night comes on apace. The soft moon-beams
Break on the waves in moving shafts of light;
The jewelled sword of great Orion gleams,
And round him glitter all his starry train;
And lo! before us through the gathering night
Dark looms the vast illimitable main.