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.

Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.

Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.

Now came still evening on; and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad:
Silence read more

Now came still evening on; and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad:
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to they grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.

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.

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?

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

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

One by one the flowers close,
Lily and dewy rose
Shutting their tender petals from the moon.

One by one the flowers close,
Lily and dewy rose
Shutting their tender petals from the moon.

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.