When day is done, and clouds are low,
And flowers are honey-dew,
And Hesper's lamp begins to read more

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.

Hath thy heart within thee burned,
At evening's calm and holy hour?

Hath thy heart within thee burned,
At evening's calm and holy hour?

O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
read more

O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
Watching o'er the dewy valleys,
Like a good king near his end.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
read more

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.

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration.

The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye read more

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night.

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the read more

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his
sandal shoon.

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.