Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SONG OF NIGHT, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SONG OF NIGHT, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I come to thee, o earth!
Last Line: I am the solemn night!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Night; Bedtime


I COME to thee, O Earth!
With all my gifts! -- for every flower sweet dew.
In bell, and urn, and chalice, to renew
The glory of its birth.

Not one which glimmering lies
Far amidst folding hills, or forest leaves,
But, through its veins of beauty, so receive'
A spirit of fresh dyes.

I come with every star;
Making thy streams, that on their noonday track,
Give but the moss, the reed, the lily back,
Mirrors of worlds afar.

I come with peace; -- I shed
Sleep through thy wood-walks, o'er the honey-bee,
The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young glee,
The hyacinth's meek head.

On my own heart I lay
The weary babe; and sealing with a breath
Its eyes of love, send fairy dreams, beneath
The shadowing lids to play.

I come with mightier things!
Who calls me silent? I have many tones --
The dark skies thrill with low, mysterious moans,
Borne on my sweeping wings.

I waft them not alone
From the deep organ of the forest shades,
Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades
Till the bright day is done;

But in the human breast
A thousand still small voices I awake,
Strong, in their sweetness, from the soul to shake
The mantle of its rest.

I bring them from the past:
From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn,
From crushed affections, which, though long o'erborne,
Make their tones heard at last.

I bring them from the tomb:
O'er the sad couch of late repentant love
They pass -- though low as murmurs of a dove --
Like trumpets through the gloom.

I come with all my train:
Who calls me lonely? -- Hosts around me tread,
The intensely bright, the beautiful, -- the dead, --
Phantoms of heart and brain.

Looks from departed eyes --
These are my lightnings! -- filled with anguish vain,
Or tenderness too piercing to sustain,
They smite with agonies.

I, that with soft control,
Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song,
I am the avenging one! the armed -- the strong,
The searcher of the soul!

I, that shower dewy light
Through slumbering leaves, bring storms! -- the tempest-birth
Of memory, thought, remorse: -- Be holy, earth!
I am the solemn night!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net