"It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty four: 'Day its fervid fires had wasted, 'and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit. Where the sun had gone done in simple state - pure of the pomp of clouds - spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending far and wide, soft and still softer, over half-heaven. The east has its own charm of fine, deep blue, and its own modest gem, a rising and solitary star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon."

~ Jane Eyre