What poem of fourteen lines iambic pentameter?

The sun dips low, a fiery ball of gold,

And paints the clouds with hues of crimson bright.

The birdsong fades, a story now untold,

As twilight creeps, and swallows take their flight.

A gentle breeze whispers through leaves so green,

And carries with it scents of earth and bloom.

The day is done, a peaceful, quiet scene,

And shadows lengthen, casting mystic gloom.

The stars emerge, like diamonds in the night,

And twinkle softly, in the velvet sky.

The moon ascends, a beacon burning bright,

And casts its silver glow on all that lie.

So let us rest, beneath this tranquil dome,

And dream of peace, within our quiet home.

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