With crimson fires you mountains flame--
Huge, lofty altars of the West--
As sunset, hesitating, stays
To dip in light each slope and crest.
Each summit holds the vivid blaze
Till all are burning in array,
As if some priesthood there had lit
A sacrifice to passing Day.
A pretty straightforward poem, but I like the way the simple image of a sunset is transformed into a priestly ritual involving a sacrificial pyre. CAS' modern reputation casts him as a fantastic poet, and this poem seems like an early sign of such affinities.
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