The white mists hover to and fro.
How still the earth, how calm!
What dear and home-like charm
From gentle twilight doth she borrow!
Like to some quiet room,
Where, wrapt in still soft gloom,
We sleep away the daylight's sorrow.
Boie's Evening Song is in the same key. None of the moonshine poets of his day expressed night-fall like this:
How still it is! How soft
The breezes blow!