Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal
the way you dream, the things you feel.
Deep in your spirit let them rise
akin to stars in crystal skies
There is an hour at night full of an awesome wonder,
When universal silence o'er the whole world lies
And when the cosmic chariot rolls, wakening no thunder,
Into the sanctuary of the skies.
Glum is the sky, by night imprisoned,
As over it the dark clouds creep,
Not menacing or wistful is it,
But plunged in dreary, torpid sleep.
O, how in our waning days
We love more tenderly and more obsessively. . .
Shine on, shine on, the parting rays
There is a wistful charm, a tenderness,
Mysterious and soft, in autumn's even:
The trees in weird and brilliant garments dress,
The gory leaves to whispered talk are given;