Night

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

1792-1822


SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,
         Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,--
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,--
         Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
         Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
         Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
         I sigh'd for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
         I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
         'Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?'--And I replied,
         'No, not thee!'

Death will come when thou art dead,
         Soon, too soon--
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night--
Swift be thine approaching flight,
         Come soon, soon!

DayPoems Poem No. 564
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/564.html">Night by Percy Bysshe Shelley</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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