291 <br /> <br />How the old Mountains drip with Sunset <br />How the Hemlocks burn— <br />How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder <br />By the Wizard Sun— <br /> <br />How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet <br />Till the Ball is full— <br />Have I the lip of the Flamingo <br />That I dare to tell? <br /> <br />Then, how the Fire ebbs like Billows— <br />Touching all the Grass <br />With a departing—Sapphire—feature— <br />As a Duchess passed— <br /> <br />How a small Dusk crawls on the Village <br />Till the Houses blot <br />And the odd Flambeau, no men carry <br />Glimmer on the Street— <br /> <br />How it is Night—in Nest and Kennel— <br />And where was the Wood— <br />Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing <br />Into Solitude— <br /> <br />These are the Visions flitted Guido— <br />Titian—never told— <br />Domenichino dropped his pencil— <br />Paralyzed, with Gold—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-the-old-mountains-drip-with-sunset/
