What saith the midnight unto thee?
"Wanderer, wanderer, hither turn home,
Back to thy North at last to me!"
Saith the great forest wind and lonely,
Out of the stars and the wintry hills.
"Weary, bethink thee of rest, and remember
Thy waiting auroral Ardise hills!
"Was it not I, when thy mother bore thee
In the sweet, solemn April night,
Took thee safe in my arms to fondle,