TWILIGHTʼS mists are gathering grey Round us on our winding way; Yet the mountainʼs purple crest Reflects the glories of the west. Rushing on with giant force
Rolls the Rhine his glorious course; Flashing, now, with flamy red, Oʼer his jaggʼd basaltic bed; Now, with current calm and wide Sweeping round the mountainʼs side;
Guardless now the archway keep
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To rampart huge and frowning keep. The empty moat is gay with flowers, The night‐wind whistles through the towers, And, flapping in the silent air,