Classic Poem

Ode to Night

I.

The noon has dried thy dewdrops from my wings,
My spirit's wings, so they no longer soar;
And, drooping more and more,
I pant, O Night, for thy soft whisperings
Of bounteous blessings which thou hast in store
For me, and all who serve thee with due rites;
Not with a riotous loose merriment,
That thy soft wrath excites;
But with sweet yielding to thy lavishment
Of warm syringa-scented breathings, blent
With tranced draughts of subtle-souled delights.

II.

Low-sighing zephyr, pulsing from the west,
Before thee sheds earth-purifying dew,
As priests were wont to do
With lustral waters, ere the victims, dressed
For sacrifice, felt the keen-searching knife.
Then, thy light-fingered forager, and rife
With thefts from all lush odors and sweet sounds,
He drowses on thy skirt;
Whilst thou, breast-full of new, sweet milk of life,
Loosest the robe thy bounteous bosom bounds,
With heart's-ease blooms and marigolds begirt.

III.

Dear goddess, come. Thy feather-sandalled feet
Tread out the dying crimsons of the day,
Whose warm, red-spirted spray
I'll find soft-changed to flushes rosy sweet,
Dowered by thee to my love's lips and cheeks:
My love, with whom is covert from the freaks
Of Folly, so heart-vexing through the light,
With whom a safe retreat,
In whose dusk bower sour Envy never speaks,
Nor poison drips from venomed fangs of Spite;
Thither, dear Night, we'll haste on happy feet.English