Love is Best.
28
A blaze of colour, rich and deep, on earth's swart bosom lying,
Like one sweet thought in a dark soul, that conquers all denying,
And over all a golden flood, a shadeless, shimmering ocean
Of yellow light grown hazy with its own lost sense of motion.
No sound of bird, no human voice to cleave the air asunder,
But deep, profound repose that holds the soul spell-bound in wonder.
In such a land as this, when day with folded amber pinions
Died, like a king surrounded by his scarlet-coated minions,
A man lay dying on the sand—his horse lay dead beside him
Just where he fell—too weak to bear the man too weak to ride him.
The last was he—one left alone—of the imposing band
That started bravely to explore a wild and unknown land.
One only left! And he, with eyes grown dim with wasting thirst,
Watched the high dome of Heaven into a thousand beauties burst;
Like one sweet thought in a dark soul, that conquers all denying,
And over all a golden flood, a shadeless, shimmering ocean
Of yellow light grown hazy with its own lost sense of motion.
No sound of bird, no human voice to cleave the air asunder,
But deep, profound repose that holds the soul spell-bound in wonder.
In such a land as this, when day with folded amber pinions
Died, like a king surrounded by his scarlet-coated minions,
A man lay dying on the sand—his horse lay dead beside him
Just where he fell—too weak to bear the man too weak to ride him.
The last was he—one left alone—of the imposing band
That started bravely to explore a wild and unknown land.
One only left! And he, with eyes grown dim with wasting thirst,
Watched the high dome of Heaven into a thousand beauties burst;
