STILL, still is the Night; still as the pause after pain; Still and as dear; Deep, solemn, immense; veiling the stars in the clear Thrilling and luminous blue of the moon-shot atmosphere; Ah, could the Night remain! Who, truly, shall say thou art sullen or dark or unseen, Thou, O heavenly Night, Clear o'er the valley of olives asleep in the quivering light, Clear o'er the pale-red hedge of the rose, and the lilies all white Down at my feet in the green? Nay, not as the Day, thou art light, O Night, with a beam Far more dear and divine; Never the noon was blue as these tremulous heavens or thine, Pulsing with stars half seen, and vague in a pallid shine, Vague as a dream. Night, clear with the moon, filled with the dreamy fire Shining in thicket and close, Fire from the lamp in his breast that the luminous firefly throws; Night, full of wandering light and of song, and the blossoming rose, Night, be thou my desire! Night, Angel of Night, hold me and cover me so -- Open thy wings! Ah, bend above and embrace! -- till I hear in the one bird that sings The throb of thy musical heart in the dusk, and the magical things Only the Night can know. |