13 uses
- The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter?Book 8 — Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (70% in)
- Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk—toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.Book 3 — Song of Myself (97% in)
- ...The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilothouses, The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolic-some crests and glistening, The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite storehouses by the docks, On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on each side by...Book 8 — Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (35% in)
- What deepening twilight-scum floating atop of the waters, Who are they as bats and night-dogs askant in the capitol?Book 20 — BY THE ROADSIDE (96% in)
- I am the ever-laughing—it is new moon and twilight, I see the hiding of douceurs, I see nimble ghosts whichever way look, Cache and cache again deep in the ground and sea, and where it is neither ground nor sea.Book 28 — The Sleepers.... (16% in)
- [V] And Yet Not You Alone And yet not you alone, twilight and burying ebb, Nor you, ye lost designs alone—nor failures, aspirations; I know, divine deceitful ones, your glamour's seeming; Duly by you, from you, the tide and light again—duly the hinges turning, Duly the needed discord-parts offsetting, blending, Weaving from you, from Sleep, Night, Death itself, The rhythmus of Birth eternal.Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (16% in)
- Yonnondio A song, a poem of itself—the word itself a dirge, Amid the wilds, the rocks, the storm and wintry night, To me such misty, strange tableaux the syllables calling up; Yonnondio—I see, far in the west or north, a limitless ravine, with plains and mountains dark, I see swarms of stalwart chieftains, medicine-men, and warriors, As flitting by like clouds of ghosts, they pass and are gone in the twilight, (Race of the woods, the landscapes free, and the falls!Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (36% in)
- Twilight The soft voluptuous opiate shades, The sun just gone, the eager light dispell'd—(I too will soon be gone, dispell'd,) A haze—nirwana—rest and night—oblivion.Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (53% in)
- Old Age's Lambent Peaks The touch of flame—the illuminating fire—the loftiest look at last, O'er city, passion, sea—o'er prairie, mountain, wood—the earth itself, The airy, different, changing hues of all, in failing twilight, Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences; The calmer sight—the golden setting, clear and broad: So much i' the atmosphere, the points of view, the situations whence we scan, Bro't out by them alone—so much (perhaps the best) unreck'd before; The lights...Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (59% in)
- MY 71st Year After surmounting three-score and ten, With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows, My parents' deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing passions of me, the war of '63 and '4, As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march, or haply after battle, To-day at twilight, hobbling, answering company roll-call, Here, with vital voice, Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all.Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (66% in)
- A Twilight Song As I sit in twilight late alone by the flickering oak-flame, Musing on long-pass'd war-scenes—of the countless buried unknown soldiers, Of the vacant names, as unindented air's and sea's—the unreturn'd, The brief truce after battle, with grim burial-squads, and the deep-fill'd trenches Of gather'd from dead all America, North, South, East, West, whence they came up, From wooded Maine, New-England's farms, from fertile Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, From the measureless...Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (80% in)
- A Twilight Song As I sit in twilight late alone by the flickering oak-flame, Musing on long-pass'd war-scenes—of the countless buried unknown soldiers, Of the vacant names, as unindented air's and sea's—the unreturn'd, The brief truce after battle, with grim burial-squads, and the deep-fill'd trenches Of gather'd from dead all America, North, South, East, West, whence they came up, From wooded Maine, New-England's farms, from fertile Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, From the measureless...Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (80% in)
- ...stalwart ranks on-filing, rising—I hear the rhythmic tramp of the armies;) You million unwrit names all, all—you dark bequest from all the war, A special verse for you—a flash of duty long neglected—your mystic roll strangely gather'd here, Each name recall'd by me from out the darkness and death's ashes, Henceforth to be, deep, deep within my heart recording, for many future year, Your mystic roll entire of unknown names, or North or South, Embalm'd with love in this twilight song.Book 34 — SANDS AT SEVENTY (82% in)
There are no more uses of "twilight" in Leaves of Grass.
Typical Usage
(best examples)