Explore "Moonrise over Tyringham" by Edith Wharton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
NOW the high holocaust of hours is done, / And all the west empurpled with their death, / How swift oblivion drinks the fallen sun, / How little while the dusk remembereth!
Though some there were, proud hours that marched in mail, / And took the morning on auspicious crest, / Crying to fortune "Back, for I prevail! " -- / Yet now they lie disfeatured with the rest;