Classic Poem

NIGHT comes:
Comes with slow charms of sleep,
And mirage-like sorceries of dream.
Night comes—
Comes with alms of oblivion
For toil-racked bodies and sin-stricken souls.
Night comes—
Beholder of secret delights,
Consoler of secret sorrows,
Bringer of dreams, binder of wounds,
Night comes.

Night comes—
Night the compassionate mother—
And wraps a scarf of comforting darkness
Over the bruised and scarred nakedness
Of the stricken veld.

Night comes:
And the tortured veld dreams:
Dreams that a closely-woven garment,
A mantle of sweet-smelling grass,
Covers its nakedness once more;
Dreams that green-leaved trees
Delight it again with flickering shade,
And whispering tittle-tattle;
Dreams that baby-flowers,
Bright-eyed baby-flowers,
Nestle again upon its broad breast,
Tickling it, in careless joy.