While The Billy BoilsSearchIt is to-night! The tense strings sob no more:Close fast the doors, and draw the sheltering blindsAgainst the vampire broods that hover near,Shapeless similitudes of nameless fears.Here, love, upon the outmost beetling cragOf black oblivion, soft-winged Sleep shall guardFrom fierce, familiar terrors that pursueWith scourges sharp as death and ’wildering criesOf red-fanged packs that hunt in paths of Day.It is to-night! To-morrow’s wolves are far!
Beloved, kind is Sleep — but still more kindThe cradling arms of Death. Here on the vergeOf great forgetfulness, canst thou not hearDeparting clangour of the ’leaguering hostsSwoon on the void, and — like a wailing windFrom some far shore — the beat of Sorrow’s wingsDie down to peace! Beloved, sleep, nor dream!It is to-night! To-morrow’s wolves are far!