Nature's Splendor at Sunset
Experience the beauty and magnificence of nature as the sun sets, painting the sky with vibrant colors.
Poet: Howard Carleton Tripp
In the wondrous west on the ocean's breast
Lies the sun upon the deep,
While the fair light dies from the crimson skies
As he slowly sinks to sleep;
And the dreamy haze of his crimson blaze
Goes out of the summer air;
As over the clift my fancies drift
To a clime without a care.
He seemeth to shrink from the very brink
Of the dim horizon's line,
Out and away o'er the edge of day
To a land that is divine.
He gilded with beams of golden streams
The mountains upon the right,
And then old time with a love sublime
Gave the world another night
Poet: Prof. John D. M. Brown
I saw the sun set golden on a hill
With crimson streamers of the dying day
Mid molten copper clouds, with many a ray
And glowing shaft of dazzling light, and still
The sunlight faded not, but seemed to fill
The sky with splendor as if it would stay
Forever beautiful nor pass away
Except in glory and with dauntless will.
I thought of souls who bravely journeyed on
Beneath dull skies, beset by pain and strife,
Without the light of gladsome sun to send
Them strength, until, when every hope seemed gone,
The clouds had melted into radiance, and life
Appeared serene and splendid at the end.
Poet: O. L. Linn
The brilliant orb of day hangs in the west;
The gold-fringed clouds in splendor cluster round,
And touch with amber glow the earth's dark ground.
The beaten paths and crumbling clods abound
With colors rare, and everywhere is found
Sol's benediction as he sinks to rest.
All nature sovereign beauty now assumes;
As nuggets fair the' gold-tinged pebble fills
The splashing brooklets and the shining rills;
And how the grandeur of the sun now thrills,
As large and red it dips behind the hills,
And fills the earth with mellow twilight glooms!
Across the rosy west dim shadows steal.
First timidly, forerunners of the night,
They seem to struggle with the parting light;
Then stretching forth in unexpected might
They merge from out their darksome covert, night,
Their sullen shroud more boldly to reveal
Thus oft we watch night draw its sable pall
Across the glory' of the western skies;
And night enthroned we watch as daylight dies.
The tops of ghostly pines, now towering high,
Are swept to motion by the winds, and sigh
As on its dismal throne night reigns o'er all.
We think of that last eve, when ebbing: life
(As fading twilight yields its charms to night,
Extinguishing earth's grandeur from our sight)
Will close these heavy lids. But ah! the flight
On cherub wings through darkness unto light
Is brief; then rest we free from fear and strife.
Poet: Elsie E. Egermeier
Day is dying on the Blackhawk;
Slowly sinks the orb of light;
Dark'ning shadows from the eastward
Mark the sure approach of night.
Yes, the day is dying, dying;
Songbirds soon will tuck their heads
'Neath their wings, while woodland rovers
Will be seeking their rude beds.
Evening zephyrs idly wander
Through each quiet, shady dell,
Rustling every drooping leaflet,
Some familiar tale to tell.
On the calm and peaceful surface
Of the Blackhawk's winding stream,
Here and there are dim reflections
Of an old, forgotten dream.
In the rippling of its waters
We can hear a murmur low,
And, perchance, we catch faint echoes
Rising from the long ago.
Lingering near we wait to listen -
Summer's twilight slowly dies,
While the ever murmuring- waters
Silently soliloquize.
Speak they of our red-faced brothers,
Men whose race of life was run
Ere we drove their kindred westward,
Farther toward the setting- sun.
"Long ago the daylight faded
On this peaceful little stream;
Long ago they watched the starlight
On its silvery waters gleam;
"Long ago they roved the woodlands
Bordering on the Blackhawk's brink,
Drew the fish from out its waters,
Saw within dark shadows sink.
"Heard they then the gushing, gurgling
Sound from where the streamlets flow;
At the river's head they gathered
In the sweet old long ago.
"Up and down the land they wandered
To the north, south, east, and west;
But they loved to light their campfires
By the dear old Blackhawk best."
Swiftly glides Time's river onward,
Never backward does it flow;
Daylight faded on the Blackhawk
For the redmen long ago.
Poet: Eva M. What
I gaze at the beautiful sunset,
Portrayed by an Artist Divine,
In colors of roseate splendor,
In which mellow glories do shine.
Was ever a scene so majestic
Wrought daily for mortals below?
Methinks that the angels of heaven
Are charmed with its radiant glow.
Now misty, gray clouds are approaching;
Will they hinder this marvelous scene?
Ah, no! they transform to the grandeur
Of the sunset, so calm and serene.
The mountains so lofty and somber,
And hitherto bleak as the snow,
Now bathed in this far-reaching splendor,
Become with the sunset aglow.
Then each with its rare beauty tinted,
Reflects on the valley forlorn,
The soft, mellow halo of sunset,
More fair than the glow of the moon.
Be each of our lives as the sunset,
Adorned by the great Artist's hand,
Reflecting the light in the darkness
As He in his wisdom has planned,
Till like the gray clouds and bleak mountains,
And the vale when the day has withdrawn,
Each life may be lighted with beauties —
As these, and keep passing them on.
And as we are clothed like the sunset,
With beauty the world to adorn,
God grant that life's eve be more brilliant.
With glory, by far, than its morn.
Poet: Percy Bysshe Shelley
If solitude hath ever led thy steps
To the wild ocean's echoing shore.
And thou hast lingered there
Until the sun's broad orb
Seemed resting on the burnished wave,
Thou must have marked the lines
Of purple gold that motionless
Hung o'er the sinking sphere;
Thou must have marked the billowy clouds,
Edged with intolerable radiancy,
Towering like rocks of jet
Crowned with a diamond wreath.
And yet there is a moment,
When the sun's highest point
Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge,
When those far clouds of feathery gold,
Shaded with deepest purple, gleam
Like islands on a dark-blue sea;
Then has thy fancy soared above the earth,
And furled its wearied wing
Within the Fairy's fane.
Yet not the golden islands
Gleaming in yon flood of light.
Nor the feathery curtains
Stretching o'er the sun's bright couch,
Nor the burnished ocean's waves
Paving that gorgeous dome,
So fair, so wonderful a sight
As Mab's ethereal palace could afford.
Yet likest evening's vault, that fairy hall!
Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread
Its floors of flashing light.
Its vast and azure dome,
Its fertile golden islands
Floating on a silver sea;
Whilst suns their mingling beaming darted
Through clouds of circumambient darkness,
And pearly battlements around
Looked o'er the immense of heaven.
Poet: Emily Dickinson
This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.
Related: Sunset Quotes
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Reflective and Inspirational Sunset Poems
Find peace and inspiration as the day closes, and reflect on life’s deeper meanings.
Poet: Jeanie Grace Crawford
The amber of the sunset yesterday!
It's blue and gold, oh! could they always stay!
Say not so, child, — they only went away
To bring in the new brightness of to-day.
The pleasures of my golden yesterday!
Its radiant visions! would that they might stay!
Say not so, heart, — they only went their way
As heralds of the blessings of to-day.
Not mine the golden glimpse of yesterday,
Whose colors dazzle but to fade away;
For, though it wear a guise of sombre gray,
Real is the silver of my own to-day.
Poet: W. C. Gannett
Where did yesterday's sunset go
When it faded down the hills so slow —
And the gold grew dim and the purple light
Like an army with banners passed from sight?
Will its flush go into the golden rod
Its thrill to the purple aster's nod
Its crimson fleck the maple-bough
And the autumn-glory begin from now?
Deeper than flower fields sank the glow
Of the silent pageant passing slow.
It flushed all night in many a dream
It thrilled in the folding hush of prayer
It glided into a poet's song
It is setting still in a picture rare;
It changed by the miracle none can see
To the shifting lights of a symphony;
And in resurrection of faith and hope
And glory died on the shining slope.
For it left its light on the hills and seas
That run a thousand memories.
Poet: Martha McCulloch-Williams
Send me a song at sunset.
And fill each pulsing line
With the lilt the runnel sang in June
And the sigh of the swaying pine.
The swaying pine had green young tips —
One soft caressed my cheek;
Ah! happily the water sang
The thing we dared not speak.
Send me a sigh at sunset,
A sigh for life and loss.
My heart shall hear, and whisper clear
A thousand miles across,
"In June the pine had green young tips —
But ah! beloved, remember
How clear the steadfast hue abides
In frosts of chill December!"
Send me a thought at sunset;
Straight on the level beams
It shall leap the earth and breast the sea
To color all my dreams
Anew a golden June shall bum
And pine-tips kiss my cheek.
What time the lilting runnel sings
The thing we dared not speak.
Poet: David V. Bush
We stood together long ago,
And watched the fading west;
With heart aglow I whispered soft:
''Tis you that I love best."
No answered word those dear lips gave,
Too full of love to speak;
Though brighter than the sunset gleamed
Your fair and rosy cheek.
No time in all my life so sweet.
So full of warmth and light,
As when on our betrothal hour
The sunset smiled good night.
And ever since that wondrous eve
Has life been doubly dear;
Each sunset hour that comes and goes
Still draws our hearts more near.
Whene'er the sun's expiring beams
Bring glory to the west,
My thoughts are borne on wings of flame
To her whom I love best.
Each sunset hour my spirit turns
To that blest moment when
You sweetly promised to be mine,
In that remembered glen.
How many times our hearts have burned
With love forever true,
While such experiences we shared
As sunset never knew.
We stood beside a casket small,
To mourn life's faded flower,
And kissed our little one farewell,
At sunset's solemn hour.
How many times we've stemmed the tide
Of sorrow and of care;
And in the hour of sunset calm
Have learned our lot to bear.
The joys and griefs of human life
The sun may never know,
Nor how our eager hearts are thrilled
By its expiring glow.
And as each sunset comes and goes,
Our hearts are closer drawn.
Our constant love shall never fade;
Its day is still at dawn.
Ah, all these years, my sweetheart true,
Each sunset in the west
Has taught me how to cherish more
The girl I love the best.
Sweetheart, my eager soul aspires
To meet life's sternest test,
In love of her who plighted troth,
While sunset crowned the west.
And when life's slowly setting sun
Shall linger in the west.
Be sure you still will be to me
The one I love the best.
And if perchance you first shall pass
From earth to endless rest,
Each sunset hour shall wake the thought
Of her whom I love best.
And you will wait in that far land.
Beyond the glowing west,
Until we meet to part no more.
Where love is ever blest.
Poet: Unknown
How beautiful the setting sun!
The clouds, how bright and gay!
The stars, appearing one by one,
How beautiful are they!
And when the moon climbs up the sky,
And sheds her gentle light,
And hangs her crystal lamp on high,
How beautiful is night!
And can it be, that I'm possessed
Of something brighter far?
Glows there a light within this breast,
Out-shining every star?
Yes, should the sun and stars turn pale,
The mountains melt away,
This flame within shall never fail,
But live in endless day.
Poet: Unknown
The sunset's crown of radiant gold
And robe of amethyst
Had paled to twilight gray and cold
And trembling veils of mist;
Then, up in the heaven the white moon sailed,
And, gleaming in her wake,
Her silvery shimmering garments trailed -
A shining way, in shadows veiled,
Across the dusky lake.
The darkness quenched the sunset hues;
Day, shrouded, sank in night;
Yet through the gloom and through the dews
Still trailed that track of light.
No wind bore upward hymn or prayer,
No step throbbed on the sod,
And yet my soul saw opened there -
Cross lake, o'er mount, through ambient air -
A shining path to God.
O coward soul, that fears to miss
The glow from out thy sky,
That shrinks from sorrow's touch and kiss
When shades are drawing nigh, -
Beyond the night's o'ershadowing form
Light gleams on wave and sod,
And thou mayst climb - thy robe and crown
Faded and in the dust laid down -
That shining way to God.
Related: Poems About The Sky
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Sunsets and Change
Explore the symbolism of change and transformation as the sun sets and the day transitions to night.
Poet: Mary E. Nealey
I love the beautiful evening
When the sunset clouds are gold;
When the barn-fowls seek a shelter,
And the young lambs seek their fold:
When the four-o'clocks are open,
And the swallows homeward come;
When the horses cease their labors,
And the cows come home;
When the sunset and the twilight
In mingling hues are bent,
I can sit and watch the shadows
With my full heart all content;
And I wish for nothing- brighter,
And I long no more to roam
When the twilight's peace comes o'er me,
And the cows come home.
Poet: G. W. Tatro
Slowly the sun sinks in the west;
The song-bird, hovering o'er her nest,
Softly twitters her evening song;
While from the fields, where all day long
The harvesters with sickles keen
Have cut the waving, golden sheen
Of ripened grain, and while the dew
Falls on each bud and floweret new,
The whippoorwill from thicket green
Pipes his shrill whistle all unseen;
While moonlit rays of silvery light
Pierce through the gloom of darkening night,
And twinkling stars shine softly through
The azure depths of heavenly blue;
And with the sleeping world abide
The watchful sprites of eventide.
Related: Poems About Night
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Spiritual and Symbolic Sunset Poems
Discover the spiritual and symbolic significance of sunsets, representing life, faith, and eternity.
Poet: Sarah B. Sawyer
High up in heaven the foamy flakes
Of sunset-clouds are resting;
The rose-tint o'er them softly breaks
Their ragged edges cresting;
Here lies a strip of darkling blue,
Fringed with a soft pale yellow;
Close by a crimson shade is seen
Blending with each bright billow.
But see! a purple light now glows,
Fading but lovely still,
Replaced by gold and silver rays
That flash from hill to hill.
Low down beneath an orange shade
Of clouds more still and dark,
The sun is slowly sinking now —
Of heaven's sea the bark;
For like an ocean broad, methinks
The tinted clouds are spread;
And through their billows bright, the sun
Each day his course hath sped.
But he has gone — and lo! the clouds
That flitted o'er his way,
The blue, the gold, the orange shade,
Have changed to sober gray.
'Tis thus with life — some brilliant sun
Our rough path crosses o'er,
But soon is gone; the ray is lent,
Then, quivering, gleams no more.
Not in ourselves are all the shades
That make our sky so bright;
But, like the clouds at sunset hour,
We shine with borrowed light.
Poet: M. J. E. Crawford
The sun hath gone down in the crimsoned west,
The dove hath flown to her lonely nest,
And the golden light of departing day
Tinges the mountains far away,
Till their green sides glow with a brilliant flush,
Like a calm face lighting with love's warm blush.
The sky is bright as the light that gleams
From the sparkling waves of sunlit streams,
And the rosy clouds are soft and light
As the dreams which visit our hearts by night
The soft west wind as it murmurs by
With its fragrant breath and dreamy sigh,
Makes music sweet as the pleasant tones
Which fall from the lips of loving ones —
Tones which leave in the inmost heart
Gentle echoes which never depart.
The eye which rests on a scene so bright
Never can tire of the gorgeous sight:
The soul is filled with a rapture pure,
That mortal senses can scarce endure;
The pulses throb, and the full heart longs
To frame its bliss into thrilling songs,
The glorious light to its depth to win,
And drink the spirit of beauty in;
Embody each delicate tint and glow,
And breathe it in music soft and low;
But its powers are bound in too bright a chain —
Lips can not utter that spirit-strain.
The bright hues fade, and a purple mist
Creeps o'er the hills which the sunbeams kissed;
The thin clouds melt from their mellow hue.
And lose themselves in the deep, dark blue;
While shadows steal o'er the quiet scene,
Like fairy forms from the woodland green.
The day-blooms softly are folding up
The glowing leaves of each tiny cup,
Quietly closing each drowsy eye,
Till light returns to the eastern sky;
While dew-drops gather like gems of light,
In hearts of blossoms which scent the night.
The stars come out in the arch above,
Pure lamps lit up by the hand of love;
And earthward spreading their shining wings,
As if to vie with those radiant things;
The fireflies glitter and gleam and glance.
And seem to move in a mystic dance;
The sound of streams and the scent of flowers
Seem sweeter now than at other hours,
And the soul grows calm in the twilight air,
And bows itself in unspoken prayer.
Poet: Ella Higginson
Broad wave on wave of scarlet flecked with gold,
Outstretched beneath an opalescent sky,
Wherein pale tints with glowing colors vie;
From their birthplace within the sea are rolled
Sweet perfumes by the sea-breeze strong and cold.
Here white sails gleam and soft cloud-shadows lie,
And isles are kissed by winds that wanton by,
Or rocked by gales in unchecked passion bold.
Locked in by swelling, fir-clad hills it lies -
One stretch of purpling, heavy gold; serene,
It laughs and dimples under sunset skies,
Toward which the chaste Olympies, snow-girt, lean,
And, bathing in that flood of glory, make
Fit setting for that burnished ocean-lake.
Poet: Paul Laurence Dunbar
The river sleeps beneath the sky,
And clasps the shadows to its breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray.
Now stills the lark his festive lay,
And mourns with me the dying day.
While in the south the first faint star
Lifts to the night its silver face,
And twinkles to the moon afar
Across the heaven’s graying space,
Low murmurs reach me from the town,
As Day puts on her sombre crown,
And shakes her mantle darkly down.
Related: Heaven Poems
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