Crepuscular

And row’d off gently, while he blew his flute
Alone upon the rock; Oh! then the calm
And dead still water lay upon my mind
Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky
Never before so beautiful, sank down
Into my heart, and held me like a dream.
Wordsworth, The Prelude (Book 2: School-time)

Should not this moment be cherished
When the twilight now almost gone
Still hangs like a dream dearly wished?

Should not this moment be cherished
Before that small light has perished,
Like echoes of a dying song;
Should not this moment be cherished
When the twilight is nearly gone?

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