Lost Sunsets

By George Sterling

The hills are gold and grey. A random wind
  Ruffles the shifting silver of the stream.
  Summer has dreamt her dream,
Departing for a land she shall not find.

Some hint of beauty that could never be
  Haunts for a little the deserted bay.
  One more farewell of day
Makes mournful now the shoreline of the sea.

Voices unheard seem calling from the West,
  Prophetic of some sorrow of the sky,
  And wings unseen go by,
Flown oceanward upon a secret quest.

The sea-horizon draws awhile more near,
  And crystal for the lost, unhappy rain
  Is autumn's air again,
Hushed with accusing memories of the year.

So pale and clear the cloudless day goes down!
  Where the grey deep lies desolate and chill,
  One waits, recalling still
The time when two saw wilder sunsets drown.

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