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 Hands lie folded, hearts grow deep, Thro’ hot eyelids, many a tear, Balmy, gradual, doth creep, Heralds of the cool-hand Sleep Gliding slowly near. What hath Peace to do with Light? Come, sweet Night

Darkness drear! Dungeon vast of voiceless gloom! Blindfold, deaf and dumb with fear, Like stark corpses in a tomb Mouldering, lie we here; While the stealthy blackness winds Wormlike round each rotting limb, And with slimy torpor binds Mildew’d hearts and stagnant minds In corruption grim. Mercy! Give us mercy, Night! Give us Light!