Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps read more

Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone--and all is gray.

The summer day is closed, the sun is set:
Well they have done their office, those bright hours,
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The summer day is closed, the sun is set:
Well they have done their office, those bright hours,
The latest of whose train goes softly out
In the red west.

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.

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.

Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.

Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the read more

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke
When round the ruins of their ancient oak
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols closed the busy day.

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

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.