Night Thoughts
'T IS night,—still night! The murmuring world lies still!
All things which are lie still and whisper not:
The owl, the bat, the clock which strikes the hour,
And summons forgetful man to think of Heaven,
The midnight cricket on the ashy hearth,
Are quiet,—dumb! Hope, Fear, lie drown'd in dreams;
And Conscience, calmer than a baby's breath,
Murders the heart no more. Who goes? 'Tis nought,—
Save the bird Echo, who comes back to me,
Afraid o' the silence. Love! art thou asleep?
Rose o' the night, on whom the soft dew lies,—
Here come I, Sweet, mocking the nightingale,
To sing of endless love, passionate pain,
And wishes that know no rest!
All things which are lie still and whisper not:
The owl, the bat, the clock which strikes the hour,
And summons forgetful man to think of Heaven,
The midnight cricket on the ashy hearth,
Are quiet,—dumb! Hope, Fear, lie drown'd in dreams;
And Conscience, calmer than a baby's breath,
Murders the heart no more. Who goes? 'Tis nought,—
Save the bird Echo, who comes back to me,
Afraid o' the silence. Love! art thou asleep?
Rose o' the night, on whom the soft dew lies,—
Here come I, Sweet, mocking the nightingale,
To sing of endless love, passionate pain,
And wishes that know no rest!
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