THE NIGHT
Reading edition
O’er the threshold of the West Hath closed the gate of night. O wondrous night, where hast thou gone, Ne’er more to sing thy fair, sweet song? Or art thou dead, O fairest night, And laid within the tombéd past, Thy light alone in dreams to last? Ah, no, thou art within a fortress, Hidden in the mist of time, Whose towers o’er the clouds I’ll see, When the hill of Death I climb.
