Her feet along the dewy hills
Are lighter than blown thistledown;
She bears the glamour of one read more

Her feet along the dewy hills
Are lighter than blown thistledown;
She bears the glamour of one star
Upon her violet crown.

Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm their repose,
While the dewdrops fall soft in the breast of the rose!
read more

Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm their repose,
While the dewdrops fall soft in the breast of the rose!
How blest to the toiler his hour of release
When the vesper is heard with its whisper of peace!

Our lady of the twilight
She hath such gentle hands,
So lovely are the gifts she brings
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Our lady of the twilight
She hath such gentle hands,
So lovely are the gifts she brings
From out of the sunset-lands,
So bountiful, so merciful,
So sweet of soul is she;
And over all the world she draws
Her cloak of charity.

The sunbeams dropped
Their gold, and, passing in porch and niche,
Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and read more

The sunbeams dropped
Their gold, and, passing in porch and niche,
Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and dim,
As if the very Day paused and grew Eve.

Fair Venus shines
Even in the eye of day; with sweetest beam
Propitious shines, and shakes a read more

Fair Venus shines
Even in the eye of day; with sweetest beam
Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood
Of softened radiance from her dewy locks.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

Twilight, a timid, fawn, went glimmering by,
And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast.

Twilight, a timid, fawn, went glimmering by,
And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast.

Then the nun-like twilight came, violent vestured and still,
And the night's first star outshone afar on the eve read more

Then the nun-like twilight came, violent vestured and still,
And the night's first star outshone afar on the eve of Bunker
Hill.

The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
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The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.