This is such a beautiful celebration of nature.

The Evening Cloud

A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,

A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow;

Long had I watched the glory moving on

O’er the still radiance of the lake below.

Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!

Even in its very motion there was rest;

While every breath of eve that chanced to blow

Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.

Emblem, methought, of the departed soul!

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given

And by the breath of mercy made to roll

Right onwards to the golden gate of heaven,

Where to the eye of faith its peaceful lies,

And tells to man his glorious destinies.

John Wilson (1785 – 1854)