Poem by Charles Heavysege

Night

'Tis solemn darkness; the sublime of shade;
Night, by no stars nor rising moon relieved;
The awful blank of nothingness arrayed,
O'er which my eye-balls roll in vain, deceived.
Upward, around, and downward I explore,
E'en to the frontiers of the ebon air,
But cannot, though I strive, discover more
Than what seems one huge cavern of despair.
Oh, Night, art thou so grim, when, black and bare
Of moonbeams, and no cloudlets to adorn,
Like a nude Ethiop 'twixt two houris fair,
Thou stand'st between the evening and the morn?
I took thee for an angel, but have wooed
A cacodaemon in mine ignorant mood.

1. Childhood Alone Is Glad
2. Secrets Of The Heart
3. The Coming of Morn
4. The Infinite
5. The Dead

Epes Sargent Night ("But, oh! the night—the cool, luxurious night")

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