<h2><SPAN name="page73"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>NIGHT</h2>
<p class="poetry">As some dusk mother shields from all alarms<br/>
The tired child she gathers to her breast,<br/>
The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,<br/>
And hushes me to perfect peace and rest.<br/>
Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear<br/>
Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear.<br/>
O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art!<br/>
Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart.</p>
<p class="poetry">The day is full of gladness, and the light<br/>
So beautifies the common outer things,<br/>
I only see with my external sight,<br/>
And only hear the great world’s voice which
rings.<br/>
But silently from daylight and from din<br/>
The sweet Night draws me—whispers, “Look
within!”<br/>
And looking, as one wakened from a dream,<br/>
I see what <i>is</i>—no longer what doth seem.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page74"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
74</span>The Night says, “Listen!” and upon my ear<br/>
Revealed, as are the visions to my sight,<br/>
The voices known as “Beautiful” come near<br/>
And whisper of the vastly Infinite.<br/>
Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity,<br/>
Their brother Honour, all converse with me,<br/>
And kiss my brow, and say, “Be brave of heart!”<br/>
O holy three! how beautiful thou art!</p>
<p class="poetry">The Night says, “Child, sleep that thou
may’st arise<br/>
Strong for to-morrow’s struggle.”
And I feel<br/>
Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes:<br/>
Like thistledown I float to the Ideal—<br/>
The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright<br/>
As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight,<br/>
O food for souls, sweet dreams of pure delight,<br/>
How beautiful the holy hours of Night!</p>
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