Twilight

Warm, the deserted evening
Closes over the moor.
Was it here we walked and were merry
Only an hour before?

Magic light in the west
Smiles over the moorland swells:
Fairies invisible roam them
Whispering wonderful spells.

They whisper, and all grows strange:
Shadows are over the stream;
The still, gray rocks are a vision,
The solid ground a dream.

Trees murmur, and hush, and tremble;
The west is drained of light.
Earth slumbers beneath silence
And the beautiful eyes of Night.