Sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night
With this her solemn bird and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. IV_. MILTON.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word.
_Parisina_. LORD BYRON.
O, Twilight! Spirit that doth render birth
To dim enchantments, melting heaven with earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and running streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.
_Picture of Twilight_. MRS. C. NORTON.
Now came still evening on; and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad:
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. IV_. MILTON.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
_A Life Drama_. A. SMITH.
When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken,
And winds of dreamy odor are loosened from afar
_When on the Marge of Evening_. L.I. GUINEY.
When day is done, and clouds are low,
And flowers are honey-dew,
And Hesper's lamp begins to glow
Along the western blue;
And homeward wing the turtle-doves,
Then comes the hour the poet loves.
_The Poet's Hour_. G. CROLY.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices.
_Ulysses_. A. TENNYSON.
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.
_It is a Beauteous Evening_. W. WORDSWORTH.