Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
II. Night
By William Henry Cuyler Hosmer (1814–1877)
O NIGHT! I love thee as a weary child
  Loves the maternal breast on which it leans!
  Day hath its golden pomp, its bustling scenes;
But richer gifts are thine: the turmoil wild
Of a proud heart thy low, sad voice hath stilled,        5
  Until its throb is gentler than the swell
Of a light billow, and its chamber filled
  With cloudless light, with calm unspeakable:
Thy hand a curtain lifteth, and I see
  One who first taught my heart with love to thrill,        10
  Though long ago her lip of song grew still:
A strange mysterious power belongs to thee,
  To morning, noon, and twilight-time unknown;
  For the dead gather round thy starry throne!

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