What of the Night?

To you, who look so low, Where little candles glow — Who listen in a narrow street, Confused with noise of passing feet —

To you 'tis wild and dark; No light, no guide, no ark, For wanderers lost on moor and lea, And shipwrecked mariners at sea.

But I — who stand apart, With hushed but wakeful heart — I hear the lulling of the gale, And see the dawnrise faint and pale.

A dawn whereto I grope In trembling faith and hope, If haply, brightening, it may cast A gleam on path and goal at last.