From “Queen Mab”
HOW beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening’s ear
Were discord to the speaking quietude
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven’s ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through...

[Greek]
I Heard the trailing garments of the Night
  Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
  From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
  Stoop o’er me from above;
The calm...

In the wide awe and wisdom of the night
    I saw the round world rolling on its way,
Beyond significance of depth or height,
    Beyond the interchange of dark and day.
I marked the march to which is set no pause,
    And that stupendous orbit, round...

Oft in the stilly night,
  Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me:
    The smiles, the tears,
    Of boyhood’s years,
  The words of love then spoken;
    The eyes that shone,
    ...

Poet: Thomas Moore

As children bid the guest good-night,

And then reluctant turn,

My flowers raise their pretty lips,

Then put their nightgowns on.


As children...

Poet:

As plan for Noon and plan for Night

So differ Life and Death

In positive Prospective —

The Foot upon the Earth


At Distance, and Achievement, strains,

The Foot upon the Grave

Makes effort at...

Poet:

Dying! Dying in the night!

Won't somebody bring the light

So I can see which way to go

Into the everlasting snow?


And "Jesus"! Where is Jesus gone?

They said that Jesus — always came —

Perhaps he...

Poet:

Good Night! Which put the Candle out?

A jealous Zephyr — not a doubt —

Ah, friend, you little knew

How long at that celestial wick

The Angels — labored diligent —

Extinguished — now — for you!


It...

Poet:

Good night, because we must,

How intricate the dust!

I would go, to know!

Oh incognito!

Saucy, Saucy Seraph

To elude me so!

Father! they won't tell me,

Won't you tell them to?

Poet:

His Heart was darker than the starless night

For that there is a morn

But in this black Receptacle

Can be no Bode of Dawn

Poet: