appunti

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met;
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue;
And in the Heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

(byron)