 | Voices and visions |  |
137
NOCTES DOLOROSAE
At the might of the night when its light and its gloom
Have been blent like the scent and the tinge of a bloom,
At the might of the night while its height is one haze
From the stars it unbars out of darkness, we gaze,—
Till our pain like the strain of a god's voice would smite
On the might of the night, on the might of the night.
Have been blent like the scent and the tinge of a bloom,
At the might of the night while its height is one haze
From the stars it unbars out of darkness, we gaze,—
Till our pain like the strain of a god's voice would smite
On the might of the night, on the might of the night.
Keen-possessed by a quest whose unrest seems to roam
All the might of the night from its base to its dome,
Fierce-possessed by a quest that would wrest what we miss
From the might of the night in its lift or abyss,
Our despair like the flare of a god's wrath takes flight
Through the might of the night, through the might of the night.
All the might of the night from its base to its dome,
Fierce-possessed by a quest that would wrest what we miss
From the might of the night in its lift or abyss,
Our despair like the flare of a god's wrath takes flight
Through the might of the night, through the might of the night.
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