Metaphor

You are the stately sunset,
Departing with a hundred flames of amber
Beyond the pinnacles of autumn pine
And the low mountains
That bear the brief and vast Olympus of the clouds
Under a purpling zenith.
You are the stately sunset,
And after you
Silence will rear the moon-eclipsing night,
And a few spectral stars will gather,
Like wisps to lead the wandering gods astray
Into the black and boundless fen of all the gulfs.