| Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900. |
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| Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792–1822 |
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| 612. Night |
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| 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 | 5 |
| Which make thee terrible and dear,— | |
| Swift be thy flight! | |
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| Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, | |
| Star-inwrought! | |
| Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; | 10 |
| 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! | |
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| When I arose and saw the dawn, | 15 |
| I sigh'd for thee; | |
| When light rode high, and the dew was gone, | |
| And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, | |
| And the weary Day turn'd to his rest, | |
| Lingering like an unloved guest, | 20 |
| I sigh'd for thee. | |
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| Thy brother Death came, and cried, | |
| 'Wouldst thou me?' | |
| Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, | |
| Murmur'd like a noontide bee, | 25 |
| 'Shall I nestle near thy side? | |
| Wouldst thou me?'—And I replied, | |
| 'No, not thee!' | |
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| Death will come when thou art dead, | |
| Soon, too soon— | 30 |
| 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! | 35 |
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