Remembrance Of Sunset

Where silent elms are clustering round
  That grey church-tower, which peers above,
  She sleeps beneath the narrow mound,
  Whom I had loved with brother's love.
  The sun, o'er yonder wooded height
  Slow-drawing on his evening streak,
  Had glanced a ray of rosy light
  Athwart her pale and dying cheek;
  And while that glorious orb of his
  Yet hung—departing—in the west,
  Amid a kindred scene like this
  Her noble spirit sank to rest.
  But, ever since, this westering light,
  These purpled hills, that flaming sea,
  Those streaks o'er yonder wooded height,
  Though beauteous still, are sad to me.