Sunset Reflections

As the mountain is to our west, we don't see sunsets. But we do get the reflected glory,  especially when the eastern mountains are covered with snow.  And the first two lines of this poem by Tennyson always pop into the crowded mathom house I call my mind...

The splendour falls on castle walls

                And snowy summits old in story:

         The long light shakes across the lakes,

                And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

       

   O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,

                And thinner, clearer, farther going!

         O sweet and far from cliff and scar

                The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

   

  

  O love, they die in yon rich sky,

                They faint on hill or field or river:

         Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

                And grow for ever and for ever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,

And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Tennyson is quaint and old-fashioned to most but being quaint and old-fashioned myself and having studied Tennyson in college, I still have a great affection for some of his poems.