Edith Wharton's "The Autumn Sunset"

Today's poem is Edith Wharton's "The Autumn Sunset." Remember: rate and review to spread the word. ILeaguered in fireThe wild black promontories of the coast extendTheir savage silhouettes;The sun in universal carnage sets,And, halting higher,The motionless storm-clouds mass their sullen threats,Like an advancing mob in sword-points penned,That, balked, yet stands at bay.Mid-zenith hangs the fascinated dayIn wind-lustrated hollows crystalline,A wan Valkyrie whose wide pinions shineAcross the ensanguined ruins of the fray,And in her hand swings high o’erhead,Above the waster of war,The silver torch-light of the evening starWherewith to search the faces of the dead. IILagooned in gold,Seem not those jetty promontories ratherThe outposts of some ancient land forlorn,Uncomforted of morn,Where old oblivions gather,The melancholy unconsoling foldOf all things that go utterly to deathAnd mix no more, no moreWith life’s perpetually awakening breath?Shall Time not ferry me to such a shore,Over such sailless seas,To walk with hope’s slain importunitiesIn miserable marriage? Nay, shall notAll things be there forgot,Save the sea’s golden barrier and the blackClose-crouching promontories?Dead to all shames, forgotten of all glories,Shall I not wander there, a shadow’s shade,A spectre self-destroyed,So purged of all remembrance and sucked backInto the primal void,That should we on the shore phantasmal meetI should not know the coming of your feet? Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Get full access to The Daily Poem Podcast at dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe