| Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875. |
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| P. B. Shelley |
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| CLXXXVIII. To the Night |
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| SWIFTLY walk over 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 gray, | |
| 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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