The night is holy with an unseen Guest,
And with an august Lover sacrosanct,
Who stoops in care above the world's unrest,
Whose shining troop in host on host is ranked.
His condescension makes the night air sweet,
And music like a gust of fragrance blown
About our pain from unknown worlds does beat
Its strain of exultation in our own.
The authentic hope of which man grows aware
Reflects itself upon the sunset bars,
Man lends his pity to the midnight air
And presses his compassion on the stars.
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