When better days turn-in to better nights
I dare-not dream for seldom they appear,
Tho' absence of the Sun and all it's lights
Have too the darker sky of greater fear:
That season's gold have rusted deep in prime
When any day were that to be revered
And cherished like a mother of a time;
Born out from hope, when fog of doubt had cleared.
So this; a night of rarest beauty seen
By cause unknown nor form be sightly found
Let sleepless air be breathed till Dawn has been
And fate of coming blackness has me bound:

Then I shall weep as sadness weeps it's ways
May-not for sadden's sake, but those good days.