The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward, flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.
However long the night, the dawn will break. There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies, do fly; Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past.
.·°§erenďty°·.
