SONNETS TO NIGHT. 
 
O NIGHT !  the very mother of us all, 
For from thy hollow womb we children came, 
A little space to flicker as a flame, 
And then within thy tender arms to fall 
Tired, fain of nothing but to lie at last 
Upon thy bosom, and gaze in thine eyes 
Clear, calm, dispassionate, supremely wise, 
And pass with thee the gates that must be passed. 
 
O Night, on thee is set our only hope, 
Because our eyes, to tender for the day, 
Are dazed with sunlight, and poor fingers grope 
For those far truths that mock our vague en-
deavour, 
Whilst we may find in thee the secrets grey 
Of all things God would fain have hid for ever. 
 
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