Twilight

How beautiful the daylight melts away,
Leaving no wish for one returning ray
Of the departed light; as twilight now,
Like a sweet saint, with modest, pearly brow,
Advances slowly; casting her pure hood
Of softened light around us; while the good,
The tender, gentle thoughts, and most refined,
Steal o'er the soul, like summer's evening wind.
It is a time of bliss, the most subdued,
And therefore perfect, then the soul's imbued
With holiness serene, with wisdom bright,
Which shines not always in less tender light.
It is a time when all that's harsh must flee,
Must yield to soft, bewitching harmony.

R. E. S.