Twilight

THE day was lingering in the pale north-west,
And night was hanging o'er my head,
Night where a myriad stars were spread ;
While down in the east, where the light was least,
Seemed the home of the quiet dead.
And, as I gazed on the field sublime,
To watch the bright pulsating stars,
A down the deep, where the angels sleep,
Came drawn the golden chime
Of those great spheres that sound the years
For the horologe of time ;
Millenniums numberless they told,
Millenniums a millionfold
From the ancient hour of prime !