When day is done, and clouds are low,
And flowers are honey-dew,
And Hesper's lamp begins to read more

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.

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the read more

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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 lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
read more

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

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

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