195 . Night

I SAW the Night caught, as by wizard’s spell,

In the red meshes of the setting sun;

From her black plumes the lurid light had won

A flash of sheen, and she grew visible.

But like a stricken gladiator fell

The weak-eyed sun beyond the hills of sleep;

The cloud-fires smoulder’d to a grey ash heap,

And Heaven whitened to a curvèd shell.

Before, I never knew Night’s majesty;

But now I know her beauty hath no peer

In heaven or earth; and when the white moon shines

From th’ circlet on her brow of mystery,

I see her shadow on the hills, and hear

The shudder of her plumes among the pines.