TWILIGHT.
here is an evening twilight of the heart,
When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest,
And the eye sees life’s fairy scenes depart,
As fades the daybeam in the rosy west.
’Tis with a nameless feeling of regret
We gaze upon them as they melt away,
And fondly would we bid them linger yet,
But Hope is round us with her angel lay,
Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour;
Dear are her whispers still, though lost their early power.
In youth her cheek was crimsoned with her glow;
Her smile was loveliest then; her matin song
Was heaven’s own music, and the note of woe
Was all unheard her sunny bowers among.
Life’s little word of bliss was newly born;
We knew not, cared not, it was born to die,
Flushed with the cool breeze and the dews of morn,
With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky,
And mocked the passing clouds that dimmed its blue,
Like our own sorrows then—as fleeting and as few.
