Twilight dim and gray,
         The last, red rays of the sun;
And slowly dieth the day,
         Its work is done.
Darkness cometh on apace,
         The shadows into darkness merge;
All is black before thy face,
         All things the night doth purge.

Darkness—and the stillness of the tomb:
         Thou canst feel an oppressing weight.
Suddenly the yellow moon doth loom,
         Like the impending hand of fate.
The second day hath come,
         The night in silver light
Is bathed. Nature, sticken dumb,
         Is silent all the night.

Blacker seem the shadows dark,
         In contrast with the silver gleam;
The trees stand gaunt and stark,
         Like spectres in a dream.
And over all the silver pall,
         The bright and silent beam,
Shining on illuminating all,
         The hills, the woods the silent stream.

The yellow ball on the water shines,
         The shadows dance in a sudden breeze;