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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533754" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night is young yet; an enchanted night<br>In early summer: calm and darkly bright. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I love the Night, and every little breeze<br>She brings, to soothe the sleep of dreaming trees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hearst thou the Voices? Sough! Susurrus!— Hark!<br>’Tis Mother Nature whispering in the dark! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Burden of cities, mad turmoil of men,<br>That vex the daylight—she forgets them then. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her breasts are bare; Grief gains from them surcease:<br>She gives her restless sons the milk of Peace. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To sleep she lulls them—drawn from thoughts of pelf—<br>By telling sweet old stories of herself. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All secrets deep—yea, all I hear and see<br>Of things mysterious—Night reveals to me. <br>I know what every flower, with drowsy head<br>Down-drooping, dreams of—and the seeming dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know how they, escaped from care and strife,<br>Ironically moralise on Life. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And know what—when the moon walks on the waves—<br>They whisper to each other in their graves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that white clouds drifting from stark coasts<br>Across the sky at midnight are the ghosts </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of sailors drowned at sea, who yearn to win<br>A quiet grave beside their kith and kin </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In still green graveyards, where they lie at ease<br>Far from the sound of surge and roar of seas. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the message of the mournful rain<br>That beats upon the widow’s window-pane. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the meaning of the roar of seas;<br>I know the glad Spring sap-song of the trees; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that great chant to which in tuneful grooves<br>The green round earth upon its axis moves; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that still greater chant the Bright Sun sings—<br>Fire-crowned Apollo—the great chant that brings </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All things to life, and draws through spaces dim,<br>And star-sown realms, his planets after him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the tune that led, since Life began,<br>The upward, downward, onward March of Man. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the whispers that the Angels twain<br>Of Death and Life exchange in meeting—fain </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Are they to pause and greet, yet may not stay.<br>“Never!” “For ever.” This is all they say. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the twitterings inarticulate<br>Of souls unborn that press around the Gate </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of Birth, each striving which shall first escape<br>From formless vapour into human shape. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the tale the bird of passionate heart,<br>The nightingale, tries ever to impart </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To men, though vainly—for I well believe<br>That in her brown breast beats the heart of Eve, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who with her sweet, sad, wistful music tries<br>To tell her sons of their lost Paradise, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And solemn secrets Man had grace to know,<br>When God walked in the Garden long ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, I have seen, methought, on nights of awe,<br>The vision terrible Lucretius saw: <br>The trembling Universe—suns, stars, grief, bliss—<br>Plunging for ever down a black abyss. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But more I love good Bishop Jeremy,<br>Who likens all the star-worlds that we see— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which seem to run an everlasting race—<br>Unto a snowstorm sweeping on through space. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suns, planets, stars, in glorious array<br>They march, melodious, on their unknown way. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thought, seraph-winged and swifter than the light,<br>Unto the dim verge of the Infinite, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pursues them, through that strange ethereal flood<br>In which they swim (mayhap it is the blood </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of Universal God wherein they are<br>But corpuscles—sun, satellite, and star— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And their great stream of glory but a dim,<br>Small pulse in the remotest vein of Him) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pursues in vain, and from lone, awful glooms<br>Turns back to earth again with weary plumes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through glacial gulfs of Space the soul must roam<br>To feel the comfort of its earthly home. <br>Ah, Mother dear! broad-bosomed Mother Earth!<br>Mother of all our Joy, Grief, Madness, Mirth!— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mother of flower and fruit, of stream and sea!—<br>We are thy children and must cling to thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lay my head upon thy breast and hear—<br>Small, small and faint, yet strangely sweet and clear— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hum and clash of little worlds below,<br>Each on its own path moving, swift or slow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And listening, ever with intenter ear,<br>Through din of wars invisible I hear </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Homer—genius is not gauged by mass—<br>Singing his Iliad on a blade of grass. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And nations hearken: his great song resounds<br>Unto the tussock’s very utmost bounds. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">States rise and fall, each blade of grass upon,<br>But still his song from blade to blade rolls on </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through all the tussock-world, and Helen still<br>Is Fairest Fair, and Ajax wild of will— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">An Ajax whose huge size, when measured o’er,<br>Is full ten-thousandth of an inch or more— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still hurls defiance at the gods whose home<br>Is in the distant, awful, dew-drop dome </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That trembling hangs, suspended from a spray<br>An inch above him—worlds of space away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old prophecies foretell—but Time proves all—<br>The day will come when it, like Troy, shall fall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! through this small great wondrous song there runs<br>The marching melody of stars and suns. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know these things, yet cannot speak and tell<br>Their meanings. Over all is cast a spell. <br>Secrets they are, sealed with a sevenfold seal;<br>My soul knows what my tongue may not reveal. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I love the Night! Bright Day the soul shuts in;<br>Night sends it soaring to its starry kin. <br>If I must leave at last my place of birth—<br>This homely, gracious, green, familiar Earth, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With all it holds of sorrow and delight—<br>I pray my parting-hour may be at night, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that her curtain dark may softly fall<br>On scenes I love, ere I depart from all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then shall I haply, journeying through the Vast<br>Mysterious Silences, take one long, last </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fond look at Earth, and watch from depths afar<br>The dear old planet dwindling to a star; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sigh farewell unto the friends of yore,<br>Whose kindly faces I shall see no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Victor+James+Daley">Victor James Daley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533754" data-title="Night de Victor James Daley" data-description="The night is young yet; an enchanted night
In early summer: calm and darkly bright. 

I love the Night, and every little breeze
She brings, to soothe the sleep of dreaming trees. 

Hearst thou the Voices? Sough! Susurrus!— Hark!
’Tis Mother Na..."></div>
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