WHEN Evening comes with dewy feet
And tempts you to the woodbine seat,
Sending her sweet voice in the breeze
To whisper through the leafy trees;
Come, come, sweet sisters, come away,
"And see the silvery floods of day"
Dip yon bright cloud, whose golden glow
Gleams on this little world below!
While the bright sun in state retires,
Not yet extinguishing his fires,
But leaves a tint of saffron hue,
With a melting stream of milky blue, —
A ruby tinge with topaz bright,
The little lamp of lingering light, —
That gently for the shadows gray
Prepare a soft but solemn way.