Classic Poem

When wandering in the evening light —
(The time when poet's dreams are won) —
Oft turn thee to direct thy sight
Where brightly glows the setting sun.
Then high thy ransomed spirit soars,
Within the Temple peers thy glance;
Thy soul all holy things explores,
And heavenly forms each sense entrance.

But when, to hide this Holy Place,
Roll down the sombre clouds of night,
Then all is done — thy steps retrace,
Made joyful by the wondrous sight.
In mute emotion homeward fare:
Within thee dwells a blissful lay;
The light that thou beheldest there
Shines round thee on thy darksome way.