Evening Twilight

O night! O refreshing darkness! to me you are the signal for an inner feast, my deliverer from anguish! In the solitude of the plain, in the stony labyrinths of the metropolis, scintillation of stars, bright bursts of city lights, you are the fireworks of my goddess Liberty!

Twilight, how sweet you are, how tender!  The rosy glow lingering on the horizon like the last agony of day conquered by victorious night; the flames of the candelabra making dull red splashes against the sunset's dying glory; the heavy draperies that some unseen hand draws out the depth of the East - it all seems to imitate those complex sentiments that at life's most solemn moments war with each other in man's heart.

Or it may remind one of those curious costumes dancers wear, that reveal under dark transparent gauze the muted splendors of a dazzling skirt, just as the delicious past shines through the somber present; and the gold and silver stars sprinkled over it, represent the fires of fancy that shine brightly only in the deep mourning of the night.