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Crane, Frank D.; Latimer, Margery; Emmerling, Margaret (ed.) / The Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XXII, Number 3 (December 1922)

Weinbaum, Stanley G.
Two sunsets,   pp. 67-69

Page 67

Two" Sunsets
I thought you'd stop ere now-up there
At the very highest point of air;
Surely that was your place, not this,
Not hanging on the precipice,
Far down, to make my shadow tall.
And yet you have not ceased to fall
Toward the ground. Thus far away?
I1 thought perhaps your orbit lay
Across that hill, or in the wood
This side of it. I might have stood
With ready arms, and eased your fall,
And eased your -warm, resplendent ball
To the soft, scented soil, and peace.
Yet you descend! Can you not cease?
Shall I not reach you, then, and prop
You with strong boughs, and make you stop
This fatal fall?  Too far! Too far!
I can't attain to where you are
This moment slipping bar the hill
Across the garden, falling still.
You wane from white to fearful red-
You're dying!
Maybe God is dead!
Yes! Surely it was his intent
To halt you high in your ascent
And hold you there, suspended there,
To give a color to the air,
To give a warmth, and shed a glow
Upon the Garden here below,
When Death cut short. His schemes!
And I
Must now impotent watch you die!
There's still a flush, a little red-
A little, little light-'Tis dead!
'Tis dead indeed behind the hill-
Great God, Thy creature's flesh is chill-
Nay, I forgot. He's dead.
'Tis cold!
I feel already growing old.
I'd rather die-a sweet device
To 'scape a cold, dark Paradise!
What's that? A light-nay, two-and more,
More tiny lights, a hundred score,
1)6eembor, 1922

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