Day silently passes, the twilight falls, Like old amber splashed on the garden walls. Jagged hills, tawny as a lion cub, Rise majestically over green fields; And the air trembles with a rasping rub As measured as breathing of fabled gnomes ... Then in that breathless moment twilight yields To the somber robe flung down as night comes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING by ROBERT HERRICK A SONG TO DAVID by CHRISTOPHER SMART FRANCE; THE 18TH YEAR OF THESE STATES by WALT WHITMAN ONE'S-SELF I SING by WALT WHITMAN WOODBINES IN OCTOBER by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |