Night.

I come, like Oblivion, to sweep away     The scattered beams from the car of day:     The gems which the evening has lavishly strown     Light up the lamps round my ebon throne.     Slowly I float through the realms of space,     Casting my mantle o'er Nature's face,     Weaving the stars in my raven hair,     As I sail through the shadowy fields of air.     All the wild fancies that thought can bring     Lie hid in the folds of my sable wing:     Terror is mine with his phrensied crew,     Fear with her cheek of marble hue,     And sorrow, that shuns the eye of day,     Pours out to me her plaintive lay.     I am the type of that awful gloom     Which involves the cradle and wraps the tomb;     Chilling the soul with its mystical sway;     Chasing the day-dreams of beauty away;     Till man views the banner by me unfurled,     As the awful veil of the unknown world;     The emblem of all he fears beneath     The solemn garb of the spoiler death!