Twilight

It is the hour when from the boughs// The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows // Seem sweet in every whispered word; And gentle winds, and waters near, // Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, // And in the sky the stars are met, //And on the wave is deeper blue, // And on the leaf a browner hue, // And in the heaven that clear obscure, //So softly dark, and darkly pure. Which follows the decline of day, // As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
Lord Byron