Page:In Sunset's Hour - G. Howell-Baker - The Glamorgan Gazette - 1894-09-28.jpg



When failing light bespeak the night And her early sway, When silver moon amid the gloom Blends with each golden ray; 'Tis when the softest amber clouds Shun a silver gleam, 'Tis when they wear a ruddier robe Caught from a passing beam.

'Tis when with dew the flowers weep To part with rays so bright, 'Tis when the drooping fern in sleep Bows to a silver light; 'Tis when the daisies' closed eye Now rests a sleeping flower, 'Tis when the twilight hears the sigh In sunset's golden hour.

'Tis when the song of feathered throng Is hushed in silent bower, And evening chimes are borne along, Far from the turret tower; 'Tis when the paler blue adorns The form of distant hills, 'Tis when the hush of silence falls Save for the murmuring rills.

'Tis when the longer shadows show That Sol has run his race, 'Tis when the heaving waters take A brighter golden grace; 'Tis when my soul oft follows where He holds his summer sway; 'Tis then the thought oft proves the dream, And I live that summer day.