Tomorrow, night will come again --
Perhaps, weary and sore --
Ah Bugle!
Tomorrow, night will come again --
Perhaps, weary and sore --
Ah Bugle!
We parted with a contract
To cherish, and to write
But Heaven made both, impossible
Before another night.
Good night, because we must,
How intricate the dust!
A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came,
A Wisdom, without Face, or Name,
A Peace, as Hemispheres at Home
And so the Night became.
I showed her Secrets -- Morning's Nest --
The Rope the Nights were put across --
And now -- "Would'st have me for a Guest?
Insulting is the sun
To him whose mortal light
Beguiled of immortality
Bequeaths him to the night.
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Too few the mornings be,
Too scant the nights.
Unto Us -- the Suns extinguish --
To our Opposite --
New Horizons -- they embellish --
Fronting Us -- with Night.
Morning is due to all --
To some -- the Night --
To an imperial few --
The Auroral light.
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock --
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
I would not stop for night, or storm --
Or frost, or death, or anyone --
My business were so dear!
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down It was not night, for all the bells Put out their tongues, for noon.
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories