This feast-day of the sun, his altar there <br />In the broad west has blazed for vesper-song; <br />And I have loitered in the vale too long <br />And gaze now a belated worshipper. <br />Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware, <br />So journeying, of his face at intervals <br />Transfigured where the fringed horizon falls,— <br />A fiery bush with coruscating hair. <br />And now that I have climbed and won this height, <br />I must tread downward through the sloping shade <br />And travel the bewildered tracks till night. <br />Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed <br />And see the gold air and the silver fade <br />And the last bird fly into the last light.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxx-the-hill-summit/
