SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,-
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,-
Swift be thy flight!
Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sigh'd for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh'd for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
'Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?'-And I replied,
'No, not thee!'
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!
Blog Posts About Jane Austen's Last Illness & Days
- Reflection Upon the Death of Jane Austen and Civility
- Jane Austen's Legacy: Precious Bits of Ivory Turned into Monsters
- Jane Austen's Last Days
- Jane Austen's Final Hours
- In Memoriam Jane Austen
- On the Anniverary of Jane's Death
- Austen Obituaries
- Jane Austen's Will
Images: Jane's grave in Winchester, Lock of Jane's hair shaped in a weeping willow pattern, and Mourning Dress, 1811.