Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Twilight

For works with similar titles, see Twilight.
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TWILIGHT.
Sweet Twilight! 'Tis the holiest hourOf all the glorious day;When the burning sunlight in the westFades silently away,And the gorgeous clouds which hung aroundThe dying Day-king's head,Into the mystic, shadowy grayOf evening softly fade;While darkness, stealing o'er the earth,Brings strange, fantastic beauties forth.
The sun upon the western hillsLingers a little while,Casting around his kingdom vastA last departing smile:More brilliant than the day's full light,The splendor of that beam,Making the train which round him waitWith brighter glories gleam;Flashing the dazzling army o'er;Then, vanishing, is seen no more.
Now Twilight over hill and glenAs soon is seen to glide, ​And kneel beside the gilded couchWhere the proud monarch died;Her flowing robes agleam with tintsOf silver and of gold,As, weeping pearly tears of dew,She gathers up each fold,Then drops a curtain o'er the westWhere sank her mighty sire to rest.
A feeling of sublimest aweHer presence doth inspire,So soon she spreads a dreamy shadeO'er sunset's glowing fire;And with a rapturous wonderBlends a delirium sweet,:When o'er the earth she lightly hies,Her sister, Eve, to meet;And hand in hand they pass from sight,Leaving the star-crowned empress, Night.
O God, how beautiful this world!How great Thou art, how wise!How passing fair and wonderfulThy works around us rise!Thou art supremely good,And infinite in power.O, who could doubt a hand divine,To see and feel this hour?I must adore, else I were blind:Keep Thou such darkness from my mind.
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