An ominous bird sang from its branch,
'Beware, O Wanderer!
Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled
Draws swiftly near:

'Night with her darkened caravans,
Piled deep with silver and myrrh,
Draws from the portals of the East,
O Wanderer near!

'Night who walks plumèd through the fields
Of stars that strangely stir--
Smitten to fire by the sandals of him
Who walks with her.'