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!