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    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.

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  22  /  23  

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?

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  25  /  23  

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
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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.

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  19  /  22  

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

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

by Jean Ingelow Found in: Evening Quotes,
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  23  /  28  

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

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  23  /  34  

Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.

Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers.

by John Milton Found in: Evening Quotes,
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  22  /  24  

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.

by William Blake Found in: Evening Quotes,
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  18  /  25  

O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
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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.

by Found in: Evening Quotes,
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  21  /  16  

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

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  16  /  17  

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.

by Thomas Moore Found in: Evening Quotes,
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