When the night’s mystic, sombre, starless cloak is cast
Around the naked shoulders of the sun;
I shall be tired, I know, and long to rest,
And o’er the past sleep’s veil of sweet oblivion draw,
To feel myself drawn softly, dream-like on the breast
Of life’s ebb-tide that laps the Eternal Shore.
When that hour comes, and I am drifting slow
To azure distance stretching on, and on, and on;
When earth’s coast-lights are dim and blurred and burning low,
And other stars rise other worlds upon;