For works with similar titles, see Sunset.


The river sleeps beneath the sky,
  And clasps the shadows to its breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
  And in the lately radiant west
    The gold is fading into gray.
    Now stills the lark his festive lay,
    And mourns with me the dying day.

While in the south the first faint star
  Lifts to the night its silver face,
And twinkles to the moon afar
  Across the heaven's graying space,
Low murmurs reach me from the town,
As Day puts on her sombre crown,
And shakes her mantle darkly down.

This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.