In the time they call the gloaming
Between dark and dawn or dusk,
When the birds are all a-homing
And the sky’s an empty husk,
There is not a single shadow
Anywhere under the sky
And the light aficionado –
Such a connoisseur as I –
Can only stand in wonder
At the warm and sourceless glow
That the world is living under
As the starlight creeps in slow.
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