Swiftly walk o'er the western wave
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave
Where, all the long and lone daylight
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree
And the weary Day turned to his rest
Lingering like an unloved guest
I sighed for thee

Thy brother Death came, and cried
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed
Murmured like a noontide bee
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—And I replied
No, not thee!
Death will come when thou art dead
Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight
Come soon, soon!