Page:Pictures In Rhyme.djvu/80

 the quiet night, when earth, Shackled in iron chains of sleep, Scarce draws her respirations deep; For then I weigh Just what this world is worth, When dead is day.

It is not in the night alone, And darkness, evil things have power: Their foreheads greet the noonday hour With brazen face, Vice flaunts it on a throne I’ the market-place.

Undeafened by humanity's low bass, I hear the music of the spheres Too high attuned for mortal ears To e'er perceive Without night's listening-space, And I believe.