Night and Quiet.

Outside the dark roads stretch, mile upon mile.
Over, and close, the heavens pinked by stars;
The stars themselves remote, a distant smile
Of light in dimness. Low the huddled trees
Crouch to the earth. The menace of the hills
(The quiet and waiting hills) flows in to me
Here, where I cower in the light, and fills
My very room with essence of the dark.
Mine is the chalice! So I turn from sight
Of warm, familiar things, and, fearing, flee
To hear upon the bosom of the night
The longed-for heart-beat of eternity.

—E.G.W.