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52
'WHEN DEAD IS DAY'
I love the quiet night, when earth,
Shackled in iron chains of sleep,
Scarce draws her respirations deep;
For then I weigh
Just what this world is worth,
When dead is day.
It is not in the night alone,
And darkness, evil things have power:
Their foreheads greet the noonday hour
With brazen face,
Vice flaunts it on a throne
I’ the market-place.
Undeafened by humanity's low bass,
I hear the music of the spheres
Too high attuned for mortal ears
To e'er perceive
Without night's listening-space,
And I believe.
