"A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.

Deep in the bosom of the ocean, Where sunshine fades to twilight gloom, The pure pearls lie, and the coral bloom Rests unsway'd by the upper motion Calm and still the hours pass by The lovely things that sleeping lie, Deep in the bosom of the ocean.

Then when the mocking bells did wake My hollow eyes to twilight gray, I would address my spiritless limbs to pray, And nerve myself with stripes to meet the weary day, And labour for thy sake.

From daybreak to twilight His cry he repeats, Resting only whenever He drinks or he eats.

They rent them down In scattering showers upon the trees and grass, In noontide rains with heavy ringing drops, Or in still twilight moisture tenderly.

In the slaty twilight the garden's verdure was lustreless, the grass and foliage were uniformly sombre save where dewdrops showed like beryls.

Now came still evening on, and twilight grey Had in her sober livery all things clad.