Shadows (Howe)/For the Night

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FOR THE NIGHT
GIVE me of all thy weariness, O day!Let body, mind, and spirit so be spentThat when death's herald-brother, sleep, is sent,Resistless, I may yield me to his swayTill the black silence lulls me to content.
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Then let the dark fall like a total shroud,And fold me in till day again is bright,Not lifting with the gray retreat of night,To leave me lying mute before the crowdOf gliding shapes that steal upon my sight.
Dread ghosts are they of all my deeds misdoneAnd words unspoken; shield my wakeful bedFrom hours of dawn when most they rear their head,To whisper me of ungrasped moments gone,To mock my impotence now all is sped.
Nor give me dreams, for they will lead my feetTo walk in paths wherefrom I needs must turnFor streets of day; and though in sleep I spurn ​Their semblances, and vaguely scoff the cheat,Yet when the parting comes, the heart will burn.
Nay, as if under Death's dark still caress,New courage silently would I attainTo fight the new day's fight—and not in vain,If from its hours I win fresh weariness,To make me ready for the night again.

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