After the twilight dies,
In the distance vague and dim,
While Hesperus still like a jewel lies
On the dark horizon's rim,
There is born a strange and haunting light, —
Is it a ghost at the gates of night?

Or, seen as it glimmers afar
With a soft and mystical ray,
While over the sea the Morning-star
Lingers to kiss the Day,
Is it the smile of Aurora, who waits
For the Dawn, with her steeds, at the rosy gates?