Scribd
Upload
265 views3 pages

P. B. SHELLEY - To Night

The poem is addressed to the spirit of Night, asking it to swiftly come from the eastern cave where it weaves dreams. It describes Night wrapping itself in a gray mantle and blinding the eyes of Day with its hair. When Night arrives, it will touch all things with its opiate wand. The speaker declares they have sighed for Night's arrival each day, and rejects offers from Death and Sleep, instead pleading for Night's swift approaching flight.

Uploaded by

madhu
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
265 views3 pages

P. B. SHELLEY - To Night

The poem is addressed to the spirit of Night, asking it to swiftly come from the eastern cave where it weaves dreams. It describes Night wrapping itself in a gray mantle and blinding the eyes of Day with its hair. When Night arrives, it will touch all things with its opiate wand. The speaker declares they have sighed for Night's arrival each day, and rejects offers from Death and Sleep, instead pleading for Night's swift approaching flight.

Uploaded by

madhu
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

To Night

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792 - 1822

Swiftly walk o’er the western wave,

Spirit of the Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where, all the long and lone daylight,

Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,

Which make thee terrible and dear,—

Swift be thy flight!

II

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;

Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o’er city, and sea, and land,

Touching all with thine opiate wand—

Come, long-sought!
III

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to his rest,

Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

IV

Thy brother Death came, and cried,

Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmured like a noontide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me?—And I replied,

No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon—


Sleep will come when thou art fled;

Of neither would I ask the boon

I ask of thee, belovèd Night—

Swift be thine approaching flight,

Come soon, soon!

You might also like