Sob, cold wind of the sky,
For the rest that never shall come!
The stars have gathered on high,
The moon’s white lips are dumb,
And over her face like a shroud
Lies the wrack of the drifting cloud.
Moan, dark sea of the night!
Fling up thine arms and implore
The heavens for light, sweet light,—
One sparkle along the shore
From the sun that left thee to moan
In the horror of darkness—alone.
Shudder, thou one human soul,
Forever alone in the night;
Whose billows unceasingly roll
In desolate seeking for light!
The moon’s white face is thine own,
Thine, thine the wind’s monotone.
Thyself art the night—
O God, light, light!