A Sun-set is a great,
Myriads of years—In its own—
Changing Again—a different Face,
Tinged with tints of grief—so grown—

I feel in it—my Father’s face—
This Whimsical yet stinging glance—
Sum of all the Waves of Life—
Breathes as with my father’s last!

It begs Nature’s hands to touch—
The parts which show the Giant—
Dear Footprints that I grasped—
Willing I became, in its Flight!

But back to scenes—
The past now as well
A time did hold me fast—
A ceaseless Sun—still moving—
Encyclopedic—in its merry zest!

While here, I am again!
A Sun-set being

What follows further—
Back to bite my Soul—or—hold it awash!

• Emily Dickinson