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.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
read more
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.
And whiter grows the foam,
The small moon lightens more;
And as I turn me home,
read more
And whiter grows the foam,
The small moon lightens more;
And as I turn me home,
My shadow walks before.
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
read more
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.
But when eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
read more
But when eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
Those purer fires on high.
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
read more
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
Your transporting chords ring out.
Every leaf in every nook,
Every wave in every brook,
Chanting with a solemn voice
Minds us of our better choice.
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou read more
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
