Night

This is the nightmare crossing the border
From sleep disturbance to psychic disorder.

It was a dark and stormy night and
upon the midnight clear, the moon —
acquainted with beauty — twinkled.
The stars walked on little cat feet
in the forests of the night,
like light through a colander.

Good night, good night —
parting is such sweet sorrow —
like a patient etherised.
How goes the night, boy?
The sea is calm tonight.

Rage, rage.
Let evening come.

A little touch of Harry in the night,
wearing her lights like golden spangles,
every street lamp that I pass
beats like a fatalistic drum.

Stars, hide your fires —
take him and cut him out in little stars.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream:
the bright sun was extinguish’d,
and not by eastern windows only.
The stars threw down their spears
and water’d heaven with their tears.

When daylight comes, comes in the light —
though morn came and went — and came —
and brought no day.

Do not go gentle.
Or do.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
black as the Pit from pole to pole.

We are here as on a darkling plain,
where ignorant armies gallop about
all night long in the dark and wet,
while dew collects
on the croquet mallet
abandoned in long grass.

The gray sea and the long black land
watched their flocks
entering the Hudson,
looking up at the stars.

Come, gentle night,
let not light see my black and deep desires.

Here will we sit,
and let the sounds of music
creep in our ears,
soft stillness and the night
become the touches of sweet harmony —

as a madman shakes dead geranium
petals on a wet, black bough.

Night from a railroad car window —
— how sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Out of the night that covers me
screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl.

Deep night, dark night.
The night is long
that never finds the day.

“My God, It’s Full of Stars”