Milton—Paradise Lost.
45. When calm the grateful air, and loth to lose
Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews;
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;
Look up a second time, and one by one
You mark them twinkle out, with silvery light,
And wonder how they could elude your sight.
Wordsworth.
46. When your fire, with dim unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall