When twilight falls and all the land is still,

The purple shadows steal across the hill,

And one lone star above a pine-tree’s crest

Shines ever brighter, while from out its nest

There breaks the low cry of the whip-poor-will.

And softly grows the ladened hush until

E’en winds list o’er the fields of daffodil

They all day wafted,—’tis so sweet to rest

When twilight falls.

Let not one drop of this rare nectar spill,

But with the beryl wine your goblet fill.

Drink with me, Love, the golden of the west,

For all is made for love and love is best,—

And, oh, the wonder of the moment’s thrill

When twilight falls!