To Night


Charlotte Smith

I love thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!

When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane.

And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light

Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.

In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind

Will to the deaf cold elements complain,

And tell the embosom'd grief, however vain,

To sullen surges and the viewless wind.

Tho' no repose on that dark breast I find,

I still enjoy thee—cheerless as thou art;

For in thy quiet gloom the exhausted heart

Is calm, tho' wretched; hopeless, yet resign'd.

While to the winds and waves its sorrows given,

May reach—tho' lost on earth—the ear of Heaven!


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