II

The moon labours through black cloud,
Through the vast night, dark and proud:
The windy wood dances.
Still the massed heavens drive along:
And, of all night's fiery throng,
The moon alone glances.

How the lights are wild and strange!
Only one light doth not change,
From living fires flowing:
Where, on fragrant banks of fern,
Steadily and stilly burn
The greenwood worms glowing.

Going down the forest side,
The night robs me of all pride,
By gloom and by splendour.
High, away, alone, afar,
Mighty wills and workings are:
To them I surrender.

The processions of the night,
Sweeping clouds and battling light,
And wild winds in thunder,
Care not for the world of man,
Passionate on another plan:
O twin worlds of wonder!

Ancients of dark majesty!
Priests of splendid mystery!
The Powers of Night cluster:
In the shadows of the trees,
Dreams, that no man lives and sees,
The dreams! the dreams! muster.

Move not! for the night wind stirs:
And the night wind ministers
To dreams, and their voices:
Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed
From that tyranny of cloud:
The dim wood rejoices.

What do I here? What am I,
Who may comprehend nor sky,
Nor trees, nor dreams thronging?
Over moonlight dark clouds drive:
The vast midnight is alive
With magical longing.

1889.