Normale Version: Twilight
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The rude and garish light, that all day long
With half-oppressive gladness walked the earth,
The bud to beauty forcing till it droops
Athirst. o’er-fraught with life; the bird of song,

Made weary with its own exulting mirth:
Now, softly o’er the vale and hill-side stoops
To gather back its beams; well-pleased to spread
A downy mantle o’er the exhausted land.

Sweet dew-distilling hour! though joy be fled
We mourn it not, thy balmings are so bland.
Thus fadeth life to her by whom I kneel,
Watching the pulse aweary of their play.

Thus twilight fancies o’er her senses steal
And life’s unquiet visions fade away.