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- Princes, what of the night? —
- Night with pestilent breath
- Feeds us, children of death,
- Clothes us close with her gloom.
- Rapine and famine and fright
- Crouch at our feet and are fed.
- Earth where we pass is a tomb,
- Life where we triumph is dead.
- Martyrs, what of the night? —
- Nay, is it night with you yet?
- We, for our part, we forget
- What night was, if it were.
- The loud red mouths of the fight
- Are silent and shut where we are.
- In our eyes the tempestuous air
- Shines as the face of a star.
- Europe, what of the night? —
- Ask of heaven, and the sea,
- And my babes on the bosom of me,
- Nations of mine, but ungrown.
- There is one who shall surely requite
- All that endure or that err:
- She can answer alone:
- Ask not of me, but of her.
- Liberty, what of the night? —
- I feel not the red rains fall,
- Hear not the tempest at all,
- Nor thunder in heaven any more.
- All the distance is white
