NIGHT

by: Percy Bysshe Shelly (1792-1822)

      WIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,
      Spirit of Night!
      Out of the misty eastern cave,--
      Where, all the long and lone daylight,
      Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
      Which make thee terrible and dear,--
      Swift be thy flight!
       
      Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
      Star-inwrought!
      Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
      Kiss her until she be wearied out.
      Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
      Touching all with thine opiate wand--
      Come, long sought!
       
      When I arose and saw the dawn
      I sigh'd for thee;
      When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
      And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
      And the weary Day turn'd to her rest,
      Lingering like an unloved guest,
      I sigh'd for thee.
       
      Thy brother Death came, and cried,
      'Wouldst thou me?'
      Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
      Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
      'Shall I nestle near thy side?
      Wouldst thou me?'--and I replied,
      'No, not thee!'
       
      Death will come when thou art dead,
      Soon, too soon--
      Sleep will come when thou art fled.
      Of neither would I ask the boon
      I ask of thee, belovèd Night--
      Swift be thine approaching flight,
      Come soon, soon!

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