C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Remorse

Translation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

HOW I started up in the night, in the night,

Drawn on without rest or reprieval!

The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight,

As I wandered so light

In the night, in the night,

Through the gate with the arch mediæval.

The mill-brook rushed through the rocky height,

I leaned o’er the bridge in my yearning;

Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,

As they glided so light

In the night, in the night,

Yet backward not one was returning.

O’erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,

The stars in melodious existence;

And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;—

They sparkled so light

In the night, in the night,

Through the magical, measureless distance.

And upward I gazed in the night, in the night,

And again on the waves in their fleeting;

Ah, woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight!

Now silence thou, light

In the night, in the night,

The remorse in thy heart that is beating.