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Poem by Louisa Sarah Bevington


THERE are sea and sky about me,
    And yet nothing sense can mark;
For a mist fills all the midnight
    Adding blindness to its dark.

There is not the faintest echo
    From the life of yesterday:
Not the vaguest stir foretelling
    Of a morrow on the way.

'Tis negation's hour of triumph
    In the absence of the sun;
'Tis the hour of endings, ended,
    Of beginnings, unbegun.

Yet the voice of awful silence
    Bids my waiting spirit hark;
There is action in the stillness,
    There is progress in the dark.

In the drift of things and forces
    Comes the better from the worse;
Swings the whole of Nature upward,
    Wakes, and thinks--a universe.

There will be more life to-morrow,
    And of life, more life that knows;
Though the sum of force be constant
    Yet the Living ever grows.

So we sing of evolution,
    And step strongly on our ways;
And we live through nights in patience
    And we learn the worth of days.

In the silence of murk midnight
    Is revealed to me this thing:
Nothing hinders, all enables
    Nature's vast awakening. 

Louisa Sarah Bevington

Louisa Sarah Bevington's other poems:
  1. The Poets Tear
  2. Unperfected
  3. Merle Wood
  4. Steel or Gold?
  5. Revolution

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hood Midnight ("Unfathomable Night! how dost thou sweep")
  • Henry Vaughan Midnight ("WHEN to my Eyes")
  • Archibald Lampman Midnight ("From where I sit, I see the stars")
  • Clinton Scollard Midnight ("The world is locked in sleep with perfect night")
  • Harriet Beecher Stowe Midnight ("All dark! - no light, no ray!")

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