Monody on the Death of the Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan

When the last sunshine of expiring Day In Summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes While Nature makes that melancholy pause-- Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime-- Who hath not shared that calm, so still and deep, The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep, A holy concord, and a bright regret, A glorious sympathy with suns that set?…