Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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?

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 pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

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