Leaves and water on the rocks,

A hillside down by day,

At night the weavers take their turn,

Enchanted by the bay,

For see not their reflection,

But the water's turning gold,

For what becomes of sunsets,

When the heartbeat shivers cold,

Like ringlets through the ages,

Are the loops of crystal's time,

For what remains is now undone,

The bell's toll now will chime,

Like stardust will the mountains be,

And stairs like valleys still,

The ancient sunset now is done,

And warm now does the chill.