I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair <br />And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells <br />To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells <br />Go chiming after her across the fair <br />And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare <br />Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, <br />And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells <br />Of peace are woven through the purple air. <br /> <br />Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems <br />To walk before the dark by falling rills, <br />And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; <br />She opens all the doors of night, and fills <br />With moving bells the music of my dreams, <br />That wander far among the sleeping hills.<br /><br />Henry Van Dyke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twilight-in-the-alps/
