FROM THE NIGHT TO THE DAWN by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER

In every night some haggard hours there are
Whose passing is unnoted, save by those
Unconquered by dim slumber and her shows;
The wretched and the houseless near and far,
And those for whom the night cannot unbar
The common gate to her divine repose,
Whose nerves are torn by living and its woes,
Until they sink in some melee of war.
These know and these alone the secret things:
The mysteries which those who see must die:
The silent spaces of which no one sings:
The grey death-minutes fading, till on high
Aloft there flash the sudden glorious wings
Of dawn and fill with light the hollow sky.

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