Not 'til your spectacle of colour had ended–
Your bright face slipping behind the curtain of the horizon;
Nor 'til the rich, golden green you threw upon the trees
Richened and darkened into silhouette;
Not before your glow had drawn on the azure,
The cerulean, lapis, sapphire and midnight
And the shades at last were too deep for my eye–
Only when your pale reflection in the moon
And the lesser stars were all that remained
Did I look down at my shoes, and kick a stone,
Turn away from the west and the irrecoverable day,
And, hands in my pockets, step towards the morning.