How Beautiful The Silent Hour, When Morning

By Unseen Hands Uplifted In The Light Of Sunset, Yonder Solitary Cloud Floats, With Its White Apparel Blown Abroad, And Wafted Up To Heaven.

The Twilight That Surrounds The Border-land Of Old Romance.

They Who Go Feel Not The Pain Of Parting; It Is They Who Stay Behind That Suffer.

As I Gaze Upon The Sea! All The Old Romantic Legends, All My Dreams, Come Back To Me.

I Know Not How It Is, But During A Voyage I Collect Books As A Ship Does Barnacles.