When failing light bespeak the night
And her early sway,
When silver moon amid the gloom
Blends with each golden ray;
'Tis when the softest amber clouds
Shun a silver gleam,
'Tis when they wear a ruddier robe
Caught from a passing beam.
'Tis when with dew the flowers weep
To part with rays so bright,
'Tis when the drooping fern in sleep
Bows to a silver light;
'Tis when the daisies' closed eye
Now rests a sleeping flower,
'Tis when the twilight hears the sigh
In sunset's golden hour.
'Tis when the song of feathered throng
Is hushed in silent bower,
And evening chimes are borne along,
Far from the turret tower;
'Tis when the paler blue adorns
The form of distant hills,
'Tis when the hush of silence falls
Save for the murmuring rills.
'Tis when the longer shadows show
That Sol has run his race,
'Tis when the heaving waters take
A brighter golden grace;
'Tis when my soul oft follows where
He holds his summer sway;
'Tis then the thought oft proves the dream,
And I live that summer day.