Dying sun, shine warm a little longer! My eye, dazzled with tears, shall dazzle yours, Conjuring you to shine and not to move. You, sun, and I all afternoon have laboured Beneath a dewless and oppressive cloud— A fleece now gilded with our common grief That this must be a night without a moon. Dying sun, shine warm a little longer! Faithless she was not: she was very woman, Smiling with dire impartiality, Sovereign, with heart unmatched, adored of men, Until Spring's cuckoo with bedraggled plumes Tempted her pity and her truth betrayed. Then she who shone for all resigned her being, And this must be a night without a moon. Dying sun, shine warm a little longer!