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[Page 37]
John Pockley
1.12.07 [?]
Night
The night is come, fragrant and pure the air,
Dread mystic silence haunts the deepening gloom,
In deepest shadows ghoulish phantoms crouch,
Tiny bright fireflies glitter here and there.
Man rests, thankful his days work is o'er
Dull, heavy, slumber, weary limbs relaxed,
Care banished to the nowhere land, and toil
Forgotten quite by nature's kindly law.
E'en nature sleeps, no sounds the silence stir
Save the lofty leafy whispers overhead,
The mournful hoot of some far distant owl,
Solitary, amid your gloomy clump of fir
And now above you mass of rugged rock
Glides into view the slowly rising moon,
Majestic, calm, bathing the world in light,
Soft clinging light, which gloomy shadows mock.
Upwards unhindered mounts the pale face moon,
Shedding dim radiance on all sleeping things,
Then slowly downwards slips towards the Earth,
And to the dawn gives room.