Evening

"Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon."

"Now came still evening on; and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale."

"Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers."

"At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove."

"And whiter grows the foam, The small moon lightens more; And as I turn me home, My shadow walks before."

"To me at least was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day."

"Hath thy heart within thee burned, At evening's calm and holy hour?"

"It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered word; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure. Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away."

"When day is done, and clouds are low, And flowers are honey-dew, And Hesper's lamp begins to glow Along the western blue; And homeward wing the turtle-doves, Then comes the hour the poet loves."

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

"Day hath put on his jacket, and around His burning bosom buttoned it with stars."

"How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored."

"But when eve's silent footfall steals Along the eastern sky, And one by one to earth reveals Those purer fires on high."

"Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon."

"O how grandly cometh Even, Sitting on the mountain summit, Purple-vestured, grave, and silent, Watching o'er the dewy valleys, Like a good king near his end."

"One by one the flowers close, Lily and dewy rose Shutting their tender petals from the moon."

"Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death."

"The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night."

"The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices."

"I was heavy with the even, When she lit her glimmering tapers Round the day's dead sanctities. I laughed in the morning's eyes."

"The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration."

"Eternal Memory of the dead lasts as long as they are paid with memory!"