Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
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Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world.

The sky
is that beautiful old parchment
in which the sun
and the moon
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The sky
is that beautiful old parchment
in which the sun
and the moon
keep their diary.

I go back to those who say: what if the heavens fall?
[Lat., Redeo ad illes qui aiunt: quid read more

I go back to those who say: what if the heavens fall?
[Lat., Redeo ad illes qui aiunt: quid si coelum ruat?]

Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never
the same for two months together; almost human in its passions,
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Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never
the same for two months together; almost human in its passions,
almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost Divine in its
infinity.

And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone read more

And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone was to be seen in Heaven.

Never till then so many thunderbolts from cloudless skies. (Bolt
from the blue.)
[Lat., Non alias caelo ceciderunt read more

Never till then so many thunderbolts from cloudless skies. (Bolt
from the blue.)
[Lat., Non alias caelo ceciderunt plura sereno.]

He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It
will be fair weather: for the read more

He answered and said unto them, When it is evening, ye say, It
will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
And in the morning, It will be foul weather to day: for the sky
is red and lowring. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of
the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?

The moon has set
In a bank of jet
That fringes the Western sky,
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The moon has set
In a bank of jet
That fringes the Western sky,
The pleiads seven
Have sunk from heaven
And the midnight hurries by;
My hopes are flown
And, alas! alone
On my weary couch I lie.