Twilight

The sun is like a withered rose,
Which, dropping, bends her weary head.
Her leaves, just like his pallid rays,
With sad smiles o'er the landscape spread.
Mute and calm the world around me
I hear the distant curfew bell;
From heaven or dreamland come the sweet

And distant sounds, I cannot tell.

Attentively I list, I love
Sweet reveries' adagios:
God knows what I feel and feel not —
And where my mind, God only knows.