At Eventide.

        The day fades fast;
And backward ebbs the tide of light
From the far hills in billows bright,
    Scattering foam, as they sweep past,
O'er the low clouds that bank the sky,
And barrier day off solemnly.

        Above the land
Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold,
Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold,
    Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand
    Presses down sorrow on the heart,
And silence on the lips that part.

        The dew-mist broods
Heavy and low o'er field and fen,
Like gloom above the souls of men;
    And through the forest solitudes
The fitful night-wind rustles by,
Breathing many a wailing sigh--

        O Day! O Life!
Ending in gloom together here--
Though not one star of Hope appear,
    Still through the cold bleak Future gaze,
    That mocks thee with its murky haze;
Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife,
    And give unto thy weeping eyes
    The far night-guarded Paradise!

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

At Parting.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Father And Son.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Vulcan.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

The Morning Star.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Dirge.

Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves;
    Sadly float the midnight hours away;
Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves,
    Fall the first pale chilly tints of day,
    Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day.

Soon the darkness will be past and gone;
    Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing;
Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on;
    Life commence its weary wandering,
    Ah me! its weary, weary wandering.

Not the sighing of my lonely heart,
    Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er,
Not its silence can with night depart:
    Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore,
    Ah me! darkness ever, evermore.

Walter R. Cassels

The Dark River.

    Across the mountains and the hills,
Across the valleys and the swelling seas,
    By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills
Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies,
    Together have we come unto this place,
    And here we say farewell a little space:

    You, backward turning through the land,
To tarry 'mid its beauty yet awhile--
    I, o'er the River, to another strand
With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile.
    Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls?
    Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls!

    Together wend we to the tide,
And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;--
    E'en now methinks I see the other side;
And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart
    And stalwart arm shall quell its col...

Walter R. Cassels

The Morning Star.

Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last,
    And my freed heart beats evenly again,
    Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain
Cast backward from the unforgotten Past;
    Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread,
    Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled.

Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear,
    Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth,
    Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth,
Shining serenely from its silver sphere
    Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul,
    Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll.

Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light,
    Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance
    Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance,
Dividing Truth from Dreaming in its might,
    Scourging Doubt's ...

Walter R. Cassels

Eventide

        The day is past and the toilers cease;
        The land grows dim 'mid the shadows grey,
        And hearts are glad, for the dark brings peace
            At the close of day.

        Each weary toiler, with lingering pace,
        As he homeward turns, with the long day done,
        Looks out to the west, with the light on his face
            Of the setting sun.

        Yet some see not (with their sin-dimmed eyes)
        The promise of rest in the fading light;
        But the clouds loom dark in the angry skies
            At the fall of night.

        And some see only a golden sky
        Where the elms their welcoming arms stretch wide
        To the calling rooks, as they homeward fly
            At the eventide.

    ...

John McCrae

Wind.

Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea,
    Sad with the murmur of the weary waves,
    Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves,
Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee,
With echoes of forgotten misery?

The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing
    From the far waters of the stormy main,
    Welling their woes forth wearily in rain,
Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging,
And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging.

Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart,
    Till as of old the unseal'd waters run?
    Whence is thy magic, Oh! thou unseen one,
To make still sorrows from their slumbers start,
And play again, unsought, their bitter part?

We are all one with Nature--every breeze
    Stealeth about...

Walter R. Cassels

Sea Margins.

        Ever restless, ever toiling,
    Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds,
    Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds,
Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling,
    Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky,
    Lashes again the beaches angrily:

        Slowly victor-like advancing,
    Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land,
    Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand,
In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing,
    Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain,
    No flower or shady leaf shall bud again.

        Slowly thus the ocean creeping,
    Creeping coldly o'er the world of old,
    Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold,
And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping,
    Long cheerless wavings of the ...

Walter R. Cassels