SWI

CLXXXVIII

TO THE NIGHT

WIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave

Where all the long and lone daylight

Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear, -
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land
Touching all with thine opiate wand —
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sigh'd for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turn'd to his rest

Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee

Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me?- And I replied
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon

I ask of thee, belovéd Night -
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

P. B. Shelley

CLXXXIX

TO A DISTANT FRIEND

HY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant

WHY

Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care—
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.

Speak!-though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

W. Wordsworth

15

SWIF

CLXXXVIII

TO THE NIGHT

WIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave

Where all the long and lone daylight

Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sigh'd for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turn'd to his rest

Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee

Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me?- And I replied
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon —

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon

I ask of thee, belovéd Night -
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

P. B. Shelley

CLXXXIX

TO A DISTANT FRIEND

W of such weak fibre that the treacherous air

WHY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant

Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care-
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.

Speak! - though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,

Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow

'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know ! W. Wordsworth

15