Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain; Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing, Exhales the incense of the blooming spring, Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes, And through the air their mingled music floats. Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread! But the west glories in the deepest red: So may our breasts with every virtue glow, The living temples of our God below! Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light, And draws the sable curtains of the night, Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind, At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd; So shall the labors of the day begin More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin. Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes, Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.
Wheatley paints the dusk as a sacred procession. Thunder, fragrance, and birdsong combine to make evening feel like a cathedral where nature leads the hymn.
The indented repetitions slow the pace, mirroring the settling of light. She turns the sky's colors into moral instruction; a glowing west becomes a template for hearts "with every virtue."
In the closing couplet sleep becomes a rehearsal for dawn renewal. The poem encourages readers to let nightly rest restore the spirit so daily labor begins purified and alert.
Interpretation generated with assistance from Claude.