38 Poet
To distil a few golden drops of song
Through the gloom of this hour;
To filter true emotions
Through passion’s burning fire
When the sun bubble-like fades in the west;
As our being craves for night’s rest
That pool of silver in life’s forest of distress.
To light some pale candles
In the cavern of a lonely isle
And draw the wine of day
From the must of midnight,
Or plant a star-seed in the gray-ploughed eve—
So out of the abyss of the blackness of night
Dawn’s million-colored fountain might spring.