Night! silent nurse, that with thy solemn eyes
Hang'st o'er the rocking cradle of the world,
Oh! be thou darker to my dreaming eyes,
Nor, in my slumbers, be the past unfurl'd.
Haunt me no more with whisperings from the dead.
The dead in heart, the changed, the withered:
Bring me no more sweet blossoms from my spring,
Which round my soul their early fragrance fling,
And, when the morning, with chill icy start,