X)iew on Canal, JXCandalay.
The hour of noon is past ; the blinding sun Sinks to the golden West, the playful winds That lately blurred the mirror of the stream Are lulled to rest, and Earths bright face appears, Bathed in the glorious sunlight of the East, Radiant and calm. The hills all rosy-red Shine through the quivering haze, while in the trees, With dull monotonous pipe, the summer bird Beats the slow seconds out. Now brighter glows The ever-changing tapestry of day-Warm russet-browns with stems of gleaming gold, And threads of purple where the shadows lurk Behind the delicate plumage of the grass.
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The sun has set, and, for a little space, The Master-painter spreads His colours out In bands of fire above the wondering eartha Now shades of twilight creep across the ground And climb the distant hills ; and from the East Night drives her silver chariot through the land.