AS evening splendors fade
From yonder sky afar,
The Night pins on her dark
Robe with a large bright star,
And the new moon hangs like
A high-thrown scimitar.
Vague in the mystic room
This side the paling west,
The Tulledegas loom
In an eternal rest,
And one by one the lamps are lit
In the dome of the Infinite.