Night Piece

Ah , of those better tides of dark and melancholy —
When one's abroad, in a field — the night very deep, very holy;
The turf very sodden a-foot, walking heavy — the small ring of light,
O' the lanthorn one carries, a-swinging to left and to right,
Revealing a flicker of hedgerow, a flicker of rushes — and Night
Ev'rywhere; ev'rywhere sleep and Ahushing to sleep —
I know that I never shall utter the uttermost secrets aright,
They lie so deep.
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