Classic Poem

The chill rain ended, gloomy was the world;
No beauty dwelt within the leaden hours;
And then a change,—the gorgeous sinking sun,
So truly mirrored on the dripping porch,
Transformed the floor to some resplendent lake
Of aureate refulgence. Through that gold
I walked, as on a solid sea, and saw
God shower His jewels of the Apocalypse—
Spalls from the twelve foundations radiant—
Within the burning furnace of the West,
Where all these molten gems, there fusing, blazed
Unutterable splendor . . . . Then the Day
Paled unto death, yet on her Phœnix-pyre
The embers crimsoned with the dream of Dawn.