The Sun Is Gone
George Franks.
1908

The sun is gone, and o'er the western hills
The cold dark shadows come—The sun is gone,
And with it went the warmth and light of day
When man is glad to live ; now all is gray
And gloomy ; Faintly weird there falls upon
All Nature twilight's pall, and subtly chills
The softly dying breeze with mournful thrills.

The sun is gone, alas—but why despond?
O'erhead the many merry million lights
Wink cheerily from out the darkening sky,
Peopling the vastness of that canopy
With wee fantastic ever-restless sprites ;
As if a fairy queen in fancy fond
Had loosed her elves by one wave of her wand.

The sun is gone—but now the glorious moon
Rises in grandeur from her unseen home.
Shedding a wondrous light on all around,
And soothes the night to stillness. Not a sound
Disturbs all Nature 'neath her spangled dome,
Nor frights the little gnomes who surely soon
Will sport and gambol at the fairies' noon.

'Tis but a little while—a little while
Till the warm sparkling sun shines out again :
The night is wondrous fair in spite of all,
Save for the hour when Twilight's darkening pall
Brings to the sun-kissed earth contrasting pain
For one short span—'tis but a transient trial,
Forgotten in the morrow's dawning smile.