Джеймс Томсон (James Thomson)

Night

HE cried out through the night:
    "Where is the light? 
    Shall nevermore 
    Open Heaven's door? 
    Oh, I am left 
    Lonely, bereft!"

He cried out through the night:
    It spread vaguely white, 
    With its ghost of a moon 
    Above the dark swoon 
    Of the earth lying chill, 
    Breathless, grave still.

He cried out through the night:
    His voice in its might 
    Rang forth far and far, 
    And then like a star 
    Dwindled from sense 
    In the Immense.

He cried out through the night:
    No answering light, 
    No syllabled sound; 
    Beneath and around 
    A long shuddering thrill 
    Then all again still.

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