After the sun goes down, Before the pall of night Can settle over the town, There is a peaceful light. When the day is dying We scarcely hear its breath, And yet there is a sighing Before the hour of death. Though night is always born With each departing day, It, too, at break of morn Will pass upon its way. Quietness of the twilight, Praise for the day that's past, While out beyond the starlight, All destiny is cast. |