Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Twilight

Twilight.

Come, gentle Twilight, come!
And spread thy purple wings
Along the shore, with fairy hum
And mystic murmurings;
Come while the lake is still,
And mute the breezes play—
And birds with many an artless trill
Shall sing thy roundelay.

Yon little golden star
Hath filled his urn anew,
To aid thy stealthy flight from far
Amid the depths of blue;
Abroad the glowworm hies,
With living lamp to greet
Thy light fall from the balmy skies,
And hither guide thy feet.

The lily's ivory bowers
Have lost their elfin queen,
The fays have left the dear-loved flowers
To trip it on the green;
And now the merry crew,
In quaintest revelry,
Are scattering odours o'er the dew,
And welcome dance to thee.

A little longer, then,
Sweet Twilight, linger here,
Till one sole songster 'mid the glen
Enthrals the raptured ear;
Then in the tangled grove,
Beneath the greenwood tree,
Oh! I will think of my lady love,
And she will think of me!