A Song Of The Sunset Land.
Ernest McGaffey. In the Sunset Lands, 1895.
In the land where the long grass bends and quivers,
Where the ghosts of night and morning stand
By the gleams and dreams of the lonely rivers,
There the brown sedge waving, stoops and shivers
At the water’s edge in the sunset land.
Through the trackless paths of the sunset land;
Where the silence broods under far skies rounded
And the days slip by like grains of sand,
There the song unsung and the chord unsounded
Seem like a part of the desert, bounded
By the wild gray wastes of the sunset land.
On the snow-clad peaks of the sunset land;
As they rise in the clouds so near to heaven
In shadowy vastness, stern and grand;
There gaunt old pines by the lightning riven,
Moan in the winds through their branches driven,
On the crags and cliffs of the sunset land.
Mid the rolling plains of the sunset land,
Where the echoes drift on the tufted heather
In the wake of breezes sweet and bland;
There the shadows go in a troop together
Across the haze of the fair June weather
In the grassy dells of the sunset land.
By the wand’ring streams of the sunset land,
Where the ripples rise mid the tall reeds bending
And float away to an unknown strand;
There the shade and the sunlight slow descending
Fall where the voice of the waters blending
Sings of the sunset land.