Explore "The Passing Glory" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Slow sinks the sun, -- a great carbuncle ball / Red in the cavern of a sombre cloud, -- / And in her garden, where the dense weeds crowd. / Among her dying asters stands the Fall, / Like some lone woman in a ruined hall, / Dreaming of desolation and the shroud; / Or through decaying woodlands goes, down-bowed, / Hugging the tatters of her gipsy shawl. / The gaunt wind rises, like an angry hand, / And sweeps the sprawling spider from its web, / Smites frantic music in the twilight's ear; / And all around, like melancholy sand, / Rains dead leaves down -- wild leaves, that mark the ebb, / In Earth's dark hour-glass, of another year.