To Night
I love thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane.
And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind
Tho' no repose on that dark breast I find,
Will to the deaf cold elements complain,
And tell the embosom'd grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind.
I still enjoy thee—cheerless as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom the exhausted heart
Is calm, tho' wretched; hopeless, yet resign'd.
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