The Voice of Night
My sorrows are too dark for day to know.
Through the soft silence of listening night
I stand from fear; set free to breathe and wait
on time's un-hasting stride.
On through dark, till dim stars wane,
under ebon shades I glimpse the morn,
and its breath awakens slumbering eyes.
Then will I feel the dew upon my face,
the stream of wind in my hair and
the pulse of the sun, flaming the darkness
with its mystic wand.
Yet, I will still know the voice of night,
it flows like mellow wisdom from a fountain wise
and woos the gentle air.
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