The day is done and every hour is spent

And now it lies a-dying in the west,

Yet with what wonder those last moments blest

Crown all with the chaste kiss of sweet content;

For nature’s minstrels sing a carol pent

With the soft music of the spheres suppressed

In one great strain—the while upon night’s breast

The dying day sinks down in languishment.

And in those last faint breaths as ’twere in sooth

The halo of some saint, a glowing light

Of purest gold streams through the darkened sky,

A light more wondrous than the dawn of youth—

For ’tis a flame cleft out the veil of night

From that eternal dawn that ne’er can die!