It is the hour when from the boughs <br />The nightingale's high note is heard; <br />It is the hour -- when lover's vows <br />Seem sweet in every whisper'd word; <br />And gentle winds and waters near, <br />Make music to the lonely ear. <br />Each flower the dews have lightly wet, <br />And in the sky the stars are met, <br />And on the wave is deeper blue, <br />And on the leaf a browner hue, <br />And in the Heaven that clear obscure <br />So softly dark, and darkly pure, <br />That follows the decline of day <br />As twilight melts beneath the moon away.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-is-the-hour/