How beautiful the daylight melts away,
Leaving no wish for one returning ray
Of the departed light; as twilight now,
Like a sweet saint, with modest, pearly
brow,
Advances slowly; casting her pure hood
Of softened light around us; while the good,
The tender, gentle thoughts, and most
refined,
Steal o'er the soul, like summer's evening
wind.
It is a time of bliss, the most subdued,
And therefore perfect, then the soul's
imbued
With holiness serene, with wisdom bright,
Which shines not always in less tender
light.
It is a time when all that's harsh must
flee,
Must yield to soft, bewitching harmony.
R.
E. S. |
