The Flight

How do the days press on, and lay
Their fallen locks at evening down,
Whileas the stars in darkness play
And moonbeams weave a crown—

A crown of flower-like light in heaven,
Where in the hollow arch of space
Morn’s mistress dreams, and the Pleiads seven
Stand watch about her place.

Stand watch—O days no number keep
Of hours when this dark clay is blind.
When the world’s clocks are dumb in sleep
’Tis then I seek my kind.