Still Twilight, welcome! Rest, how sweet art thou! Now eve o’erhangs the western cloud’s thick brow; The far-stretch’d curtain of retiring light, With fiery treasures fraught; that on the sight Flash from its bulging sides, where darkness lowers, In Fancy’s eye, a chain of mould’ring tow’rs; Or craggy coasts just rising into view, Midst jav’lins dire and darts of streaming blue.
— ROBERT BLOOMFIELD