The gloaming comes, the day is spent, The sun goes out of sight, And painted is the occident With purple sanguine bright.

. . . th' approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

All labours draw hame at even, And can to others say, "Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Whilk sent this summer day."

Even bear-baiting was esteemed heathenish and unchristian: the sport of it, not the inhumanity, gave offence.

Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell."
- Bella Swan.

Night was drawing and closing her curtain up above the world, and down beneath it.