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Poems

By Frances Anne Kemble

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EVENING.
 
 
 
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249

EVENING.

Now in the west is spread
A golden bed;
Great purple curtains hang around,
With fiery fringes bound,
And cushions, crimson red,
For Phœbus' lovely head;
And as he sinks through waves of amber light,
Down to the crystal halls of Amphitrite,
Hesper leads forth his starry legions bright
Into the violet fields of air—Good night!