EPILOGUE The final brilliance of the dying sun Now floods the hilltops with a golden light, And paints the clouds along the horizon In vivid crimson that foretells the night- The Twilight deepens; now the sun has made Its way beyond the rim; the hills grow gray And as we watch the sun set colors fade The scene's beauty-but it ends the day. And we who leave thee Weber, too must feel The sombre sadness of the coming night, Whose lonely dark is only made more real By these two years of unremitting light. The sun will rise again, no doubt it will- We only know it will not shine as bright.