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Now to the main the burning sun descends, And sacred night her gloomy veil extends. The western sun now shot a feeble ray And faintly scatter'd the remains of day. - Joseph Addison Meek-eyed Eve, her cheek yet warm with blushes, slow retires through the Hesperian gardens of the west, and shuts the gates of day. - Mrs. Anna Letitia Barbauld At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove. - James Beattie, The Hermit Silence hath set her finger with deep touch Upon creation's brow. Like a young bride the moon Lifts up night's curtains, and with countenance mild Smiles on the beauteous earth, her sleeping child. - John Stanyan Bigg And whiter grows the foam, The small moon lightens more; And as I turn me home, My shadow walks before. - Robert Seymour Bridges, The Clouds have left the Sky To me at least was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day. - Robert Browning, The Ring and the Book--Pompilia (l. 357) Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews. - William Cullen Bryant 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. - William Cullen Bryant, An Evening Reverie Hath not thy heart within thee burned, At evening's calm and holy hour? - Stephen Greenleaf Bulfinch Hath thy heart within thee burned, At evening's calm and holy hour? - Stephen Greenleaf Bulfinch, Meditation Evening is the delight of virtuous age; it seems an emblem of the tranquil close of busy life--serene, placid, and mild, with the impress of its great Creator stamped upon it; it spreads its quiet wings over the grave, and seems to promise that all shall be peace beyond it. - Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton A paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like a dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away The last still loveliest 'till--'tis gone--and all is grey. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron) Ave Maria! blessed be the hour! The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer. Soft hour! which makes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day; When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns! - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron) 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; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure. Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron), Parisina (st. 1) Come, evening, once again, season of peace; Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day. - William Cowper 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. - George Croly, The Poet's Hour Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There as I passed, with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. - Oliver Goldsmith The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. - Thomas Gray, Elegy in a Country Churchyard Dewy evening's soft and sacred lull. - Paul Hamilton Hayne Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done; The twilight star to heaven, And the summer dew to flowers, And rest to us is given By the cool, soft evening hours. - Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans Day hath put on his jacket, and around His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Evening How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored. - Jean Ingelow, Supper at the Mill, a song But when eve's silent footfall steals Along the eastern sky, And one by one to earth reveals Those purer fires on high. - John Keble, Christian Year--Fourth Sunday After Trinity Evening came. The setting sun stretched his celestial rods of light Across the level landscape, and, like the Hebrews In Egypt, smote the rivers, brooks, and ponds, And they became as blood. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow O precious evenings! all too swiftly sped! - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Displaying page 1 of 2 for this topic: Next >> [1] 2
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