Night and Moon

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone.

Already with thee! tender is the night.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet.

Swiftly walk o’er the western wave, Spirit of Night!

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright.

So we’ll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we’ll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Vex’d with mirth the drowsy ear of night.

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoarfrost spread; But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red.

The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide; Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside.

The hornèd Moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip.

The sun’s rim dips, the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper o’er the sea Off shot the specter bark.

About, about, in reel and rout The death fires danced at night.

Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will! Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Turn away no more. Why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, The wat’ry shore Is giv’n thee till the break of day.

The moon like a flower In heaven’s high bower, With silent delight, Sits and smiles on the night.

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow’r The moping owl does to the moon complain.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

By night an atheist half believes a God.