<h2><SPAN name="page27"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>A WATCH IN THE NIGHT</h2>
<h3>1</h3>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Watchman</span>, what of
the night?—<br/>
Storm and thunder and rain,<br/>
Lights that waver and wane,<br/>
Leaving the watchfires unlit.<br/>
Only the balefires are bright,<br/>
And the flash of the lamps now and then<br/>
From a palace where spoilers sit,<br/>
Trampling the children of men.</p>
<h3>2</h3>
<p class="poetry">Prophet, what of the night?—<br/>
I stand by the verge of the sea,<br/>
Banished, uncomforted, free,<br/>
Hearing the noise of the waves<br/>
And sudden flashes that smite<br/>
Some man’s tyrannous head,<br/>
Thundering, heard among graves<br/>
That hide the hosts of his dead.</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page28"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>3</h3>
<p class="poetry">Mourners, what of the night?—<br/>
All night through without sleep<br/>
We weep, and we weep, and we weep.<br/>
Who shall give us our sons?<br/>
Beaks of raven and kite,<br/>
Mouths of wolf and of hound,<br/>
Give us them back whom the guns<br/>
Shot for you dead on the ground.</p>
<h3>4</h3>
<p class="poetry">Dead men, what of the night?—<br/>
Cannon and scaffold and sword,<br/>
Horror of gibbet and cord,<br/>
Mowed us as sheaves for the grave,<br/>
Mowed us down for the right.<br/>
We do not grudge or repent.<br/>
Freely to freedom we gave<br/>
Pledges, till life should be spent.</p>
<h3>5</h3>
<p class="poetry">Statesman, what of the night?—<br/>
The night will last me my time.<br/>
The gold on a crown or a crime<br/>
Looks well enough yet by the lamps.<br/>
Have we not fingers to write,<br/>
Lips to swear at a need?<br/>
Then, when danger decamps,<br/>
Bury the word with the deed.</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page29"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>6</h3>
<p class="poetry">Warrior, what of the night?—<br/>
Whether it be not or be<br/>
Night, is as one thing to me.<br/>
I for one, at the least,<br/>
Ask not of dews if they blight,<br/>
Ask not of flames if they slay,<br/>
Ask not of prince or of priest<br/>
How long ere we put them away.</p>
<h3>7</h3>
<p class="poetry">Master, what of the night?—<br/>
Child, night is not at all<br/>
Anywhere, fallen or to fall,<br/>
Save in our star-stricken eyes.<br/>
Forth of our eyes it takes flight,<br/>
Look we but once nor before<br/>
Nor behind us, but straight on the skies;<br/>
Night is not then any more.</p>
<h3>8</h3>
<p class="poetry">Exile, what of the night?—<br/>
The tides and the hours run out,<br/>
The seasons of death and of doubt,<br/>
The night-watches bitter and sore.<br/>
In the quicksands leftward and right<br/>
My feet sink down under me;<br/>
But I know the scents of the shore<br/>
And the broad blown breaths of the sea.</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page30"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>9</h3>
<p class="poetry">Captives, what of the night?—<br/>
It rains outside overhead<br/>
Always, a rain that is red,<br/>
And our faces are soiled with the rain.<br/>
Here in the seasons’ despite<br/>
Day-time and night-time are one,<br/>
Till the curse of the kings and the chain<br/>
Break, and their toils be undone.</p>
<h3>10</h3>
<p class="poetry">Christian, what of the night?—<br/>
I cannot tell; I am blind.<br/>
I halt and hearken behind<br/>
If haply the hours will go back<br/>
And return to the dear dead light,<br/>
To the watchfires and stars that of old<br/>
Shone where the sky now is black,<br/>
Glowed where the earth now is cold.</p>
<h3>11</h3>
<p class="poetry">High priest, what of the night?—<br/>
The night is horrible here<br/>
With haggard faces and fear,<br/>
Blood, and the burning of fire.<br/>
Mine eyes are emptied of sight,<br/>
Mine hands are full of the dust.<br/>
If the God of my faith be a liar,<br/>
Who is it that I shall trust?</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page31"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>12</h3>
<p class="poetry">Princes, what of the night?—<br/>
Night with pestilent breath<br/>
Feeds us, children of death,<br/>
Clothes us close with her gloom.<br/>
Rapine and famine and fright<br/>
Crouch at our feet and are fed.<br/>
Earth where we pass is a tomb,<br/>
Life where we triumph is dead.</p>
<h3>13</h3>
<p class="poetry">Martyrs, what of the night?—<br/>
Nay, is it night with you yet?<br/>
We, for our part, we forget<br/>
What night was, if it were.<br/>
The loud red mouths of the fight<br/>
Are silent and shut where we are.<br/>
In our eyes the tempestuous air<br/>
Shines as the face of a star.</p>
<h3>14</h3>
<p class="poetry">England, what of the night?—<br/>
Night is for slumber and sleep,<br/>
Warm, no season to weep.<br/>
Let me alone till the day.<br/>
Sleep would I still if I might,<br/>
Who have slept for two hundred years.<br/>
Once I had honour, they say;<br/>
But slumber is sweeter than tears.</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page32"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>15</h3>
<p class="poetry">France, what of the night?—<br/>
Night is the prostitute’s noon,<br/>
Kissed and drugged till she swoon,<br/>
Spat upon, trod upon, whored.<br/>
With bloodred rose-garlands dight,<br/>
Round me reels in the dance<br/>
Death, my saviour, my lord,<br/>
Crowned; there is no more France.</p>
<h3>16</h3>
<p class="poetry">Italy, what of the night?—<br/>
Ah, child, child, it is long!<br/>
Moonbeam and starbeam and song<br/>
Leave it dumb now and dark.<br/>
Yet I perceive on the height<br/>
Eastward, not now very far,<br/>
A song too loud for the lark,<br/>
A light too strong for a star.</p>
<h3>17</h3>
<p class="poetry">Germany, what of the night?—<br/>
Long has it lulled me with dreams;<br/>
Now at midwatch, as it seems,<br/>
Light is brought back to mine eyes,<br/>
And the mastery of old and the might<br/>
Lives in the joints of mine hands,<br/>
Steadies my limbs as they rise,<br/>
Strengthens my foot as it stands.</p>
<h3><SPAN name="page33"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>18</h3>
<p class="poetry">Europe, what of the night?—<br/>
Ask of heaven, and the sea,<br/>
And my babes on the bosom of me,<br/>
Nations of mine, but ungrown.<br/>
There is one who shall surely requite<br/>
All that endure or that err:<br/>
She can answer alone:<br/>
Ask not of me, but of her.</p>
<h3>19</h3>
<p class="poetry">Liberty, what of the night?—<br/>
I feel not the red rains fall,<br/>
Hear not the tempest at all,<br/>
Nor thunder in heaven any more.<br/>
All the distance is white<br/>
With the soundless feet of the sun.<br/>
Night, with the woes that it wore,<br/>
Night is over and done.</p>
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