At Eventide.
At eventide, when glories lie In crimson curtains hung on high, And all the breast of heaven glows With mingled wreaths of flowers and snows, The dearest dreams of life draw nigh. The pleasures in their soft robes fly With angel wings adown the sky, And rapture lulls to sweet repose, At eventide. Ah, well-a-day! Life's weary cry, And all its curse and care shall die, When Age on downy couches throws His weary limbs and only knows The tender dreams of bye-and-bye, At eventide!
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"At eventide, when glories lie..."
This evocative piece by Freeman Edwin Miller, titled "At Eventide.", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...