Behind the golden western hills
The sun goes down, a founder’d bark,
Only a mighty sadness fills
        The silence of the dark.

O twilight sad with wistful eyes,
Restore in ruth again to me
The shadow of the peace that lies
        Beyond the purple sea.

The sun of my great joy goes down,
Against the paling heights afar,
Gleams out like some glad angel’s crown,
        A yellow evening star;

The glory from the western hills
Falls fading, spark on spark,
Only a mighty sadness fills
        The spaces of the dark.

— George Charles Whitney, “Sunset”