The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth.

When clouds are seen wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall then winter is at hand.

The sacred lamp of day Now dipt in western clouds his parting day.

The lonely sunsets flare forlorn Down valleys dreadly desolate; The lonely mountains soar in scorn As still as death, as stern as fate.

See! he sinks Without a word; and his ensanguined bier Is vacant in the west, while far and near Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks, Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry Amid thy cloud-built streets. - Rev. Frederick William Faber,