Time and Tears

By George Sterling

Ere the bent skies were soft with afternoon,
    A cloud crept up those arching walls of day
    And like a pall upon the heavens lay,
Casting a shadow on the fields of June.
Then the tyrannic winds arose, and soon,
    Like eagles harrying a helpless prey,
    Drove its dark pinions on that azure way
Foretrodden by the white, belated moon.

And now far down the royal West it lies,
    Where its bright sisters in the sunset float,—
        While the first voices of the twilight call.
A dweller for a little in our skies,
    How still it seems, how tender and remote,
        Like some old grief that time has rendered small!

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