Night
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne That on the dancing waves in glory shone, For whose declining on the western shore The oriental hills black mantles wore, And thence apace the gentle twilight fled, That had from hideous caverns ushered All-drowsy Night, who in a car of jet, By steeds of iron-grey, which mainly sweat Moist drops on all the world, drawn through the sky, The helps of darkness waited orderly. First thick clouds rose from all the liquid plains; Then mists from marishes, and grounds whose veins Were conduit-pipes to many a crystal spring; From standing pools and fens were following Unhealthy fogs; each river, every rill Sent up their vapours to attend her will These pitchy curtains drew 'twixt earth and heaven And as Night's chariot through the air was driven, Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song And silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue Talk'd to the Echo; satyrs broke their dance, And all the upper world lay in a trance. Only the curled streams soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the green leaf swept Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisp'rings stirred. As loath to waken any singing bird. From Britannia's Pastorals.
William Browne’s other poems:
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
