Page:Poems Cook.djvu/91

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NIGHT.
The God of Day is speeding his way
Through the golden gates of the West;
The rosebud sleeps in the parting ray,
The bird is seeking its nest.

I love the light-yet welcome, Night;
For beneath thy darkling fall,
The troubled breast is soothed in rest,
And the slave forgets his thrall.

The peasant child, all strong and wild,
Is growing quiet and meek;
All fire is hid 'neath his heavy lid,
The lashes yearn to the cheek.

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