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Do you remember that purple twilight's falling, As if it were the atmosphere of some fairy land? One pale star to its lingering kindred calling, Was alone in the sky of all night's spirit band. To and fro, mournfully the oak boughs were swinging, For a soft warm wind put the branches aside; Afar a little river wound through the meadow, singing To the tall grass and wild flowers hanging o'er its tide. Down at our feet the blue violets were growing, We saw not their blossoms, but we felt that they were fair, For the fresh and fragrant rain of young April's bestowing, Fell from their leaves as they opened to the air. Deep fell the shadows round, each could see only The dark outline softening of the other's face; Thick closed the trees above, earth held no such lonely, Nor, as we then deem'd, so lovely a place. Sweet was the silence, but sweeter was it broken By words such as Love whispers once in his youth, When leaf, star, and night, are each taken for a token, And a witness, though we doubted not, of such stainless truth; Hope with its fever, and memory with its sorrow, Came not o'er a moment, whose joy stood alone: There are some days which never know a morrow, And the day when Love first finds utterance is one— Do you remember it?