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NIGHT

BY JAMES THOMSON

HE cried out through the night:
"Where is the light?
Shall nevermore
Open Heaven's door?
Oh, I am left
Lonely, bereft!" He cried out through the night:
It spread vaguely white,
With its ghost of a moon
Above the dark swoon
Of the earth lying chill,
Breathless, grave still. He cried out through the night:
His voice in its might
Rang forth far and far,
 And then like a star
Dwindled from sense
In the Immense. He cried out through the night:
No answering light,
No syllabled sound;
Beneath and around
A long shuddering thrill
Then all again still.

 

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