It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour -- when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the Heaven that clear obscure
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
What lovely words and lovely views And images drawn by those brown hues Lord Byron poems run pure as dew And please the ear as a soothing tune
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cyka cyka cyka bylat