Beyond it a cloud outrolled,

Is glowing molten and bright;

And soon the hill, and the valley and all,

With a quiet fall,

Shall be gathered into the night.

And yet a moment more,

Out of the silent wood,

As if from the closing door

Of another world and another lovelier mood,

Hear'st thou the hermit pour—

So sweet! so magical!—

His golden music, ghostly beautiful.

AFTER RAIN

For three whole days across the sky,

In sullen packs that loomed and broke,

With flying fringes dim as smoke,

The columns of the rain went by;

At every hour the wind awoke;

The darkness passed upon the plain;

The great drops rattled at the pane.

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