THE SONG OF NIGHT.
143
I come with all my train:
Who calls me lonely?—Hosts around me tread,
Th' intensely bright, the Beautiful, the Dread—
Phantoms of heart and brain!
Looks from departed eyes,
These are my lightnings!—filled with anguish vain
Or tenderness too piercing to sustain,
They smite with agonies.
I, that with soft controul
Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song,
I am th' Avenging One!—the Armed, the Strong,
The Searcher of the soul!
I, that shower dewy light
Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!—the tempest-birth
Of Memory, Thought, Remorse:—be holy, Earth!
—I am the solemn Night!
