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
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye read more
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.
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods read more
Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among,
I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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.
Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.
Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.
Hath thy heart within thee burned,
At evening's calm and holy hour?
Hath thy heart within thee burned,
At evening's calm and holy hour?
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Hark! that's the nightingale,
Telling the self-same tale
Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
read more
Hark! that's the nightingale,
Telling the self-same tale
Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
So echoes answered when her song was sung
In the first wooded vale.
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the read more
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his
sandal shoon.
