When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, ‘Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.”
― Robert Frost
What is it about sunsets which make me love them so much? It seems to be the last hurrah of the day, the last swing in a fight, a song of praise, a valiant effort for life. I could watch the sunset every night until I die and never grow tired of what I see – even sunrise doesn’t do the same for me.
The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
where morning dawns, where evening fades,
you call forth songs of joy.
From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same the Lord’s name is to be praised.