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THE SONG OF NIGHT.
171
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!—fill'd 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 arm'd—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!*[1]
- ↑ *Originally published in the Winter's Wreath for 1830.
