The Bird and the Hour
The sun looks over a little hill And floods the valley with gold-- A torrent of gold; And the hither field is green and still; 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.
Archibald Lampman’s other poems:
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