Echoes of Spring :: :: University of Virginia Library

TWILIGHT HOUR.

I sat me down at twilight,
When the even sun was low,
And his rays still bright,
Cast a golden light,
As the day was dying slow.

All things seemed weary and silent,
Save where the beetle flew,
And the dreary wind,
With a sad, sad din,
Bid the dying day adieu.

I gazed on the buds and leaflets,
All coated with sweet summer dew,
And the bright golden west,
Brought a sigh to my breast,
And the thoughts of a dear one I knew.

For many an eve 'mong blossom and leaves,
In the sweet happy moments of bliss,
When the west sun was low,
And the zephyrs did blow,
In the calm hour of twilight like this,

We had gazed on the sun at the closing of day,
As we sat in the bowers of June,
In a restful repose,
Midst flower and rose;
Alas! came her twilight too soon.

Like a bud, when its calyx half oped to the wind
Is plucked ere it bursts in full bloom,
Mixed with blossoms and vine,
Then with garlands entwine,
And helplessly yields to its doom,

So the angel of death saw it fit through his power,
And he plied his sickle and dart;
'Mong the choice buds he plucked,
To mix with rare flower,
Was a treasure esteemed in my heart.

And oft in the even of twilight,
when the scenes draw on like this,
My thoughts drift above.
To a dear one I love,
Far away to the sweet Land of Bliss.