All things they have in common, being so poor, And their one fear, Death's shadow at the
door. Each sundown makes
them mournful, each sunrise Brings back the
brightness in their failing eyes. Edmund Charles Blunden 'Almswomen'.
Do not expect again a phoenix hour, The triple-towered
sky, the dove complaining, Sudden the rain of
gold and heart's first ease Traced under trees
by the eldritch light of sundown. Cecil Day-Lewis 'From Feathers to Iron'.
Midwinter Spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards
sundown, Suspended in time,
between pole and tropic. T(homas) S(tearns) Eliot Four Quartets,'Little Gidding', pt.1.