The Magic Hour
THE MAGIC HOUR a sonnet of art and age Stare not at the Sun, we’re oft reminded, But in the Magic Hour, as the Poets tell Eyes can gaze and be not blinded-- The day’s work’s done, for good or ill. The Farmer comes home from the field, The Baker from the baking; The Vintner casks the final yield, The Maker ceases making... The Magic Hour, the Artist cherishes-- The Hour of rosy-golden light-- The Hour as the daylight perishes, Before the final fall of night... The last bird sings, his song... Sign in to see full entry.