As from the western mountains fade
The glories of the afterglow,
A zephyr cometh, soft and low
Like gentle, plaintive music played
On tuneful lyres of long ago.

It steals amid the choric pines
That at its thrilling touch resound,
Vibrating with a mournful sound--
A plaint for Day, that slow declines
Beyond the distant western bound.

The music grows and swells amain,
A grand, full-volumed melody,
Sad, sorrowful inexpressibly,
And laden with secret, world-old pain--
Nature's eternal threnody.