Night
NIGHT keeps all its secrets well And hides with a velvet cape The questing world of day.
The wind in the poplar trees
stirs the silvered moonlit leaves
and whispers of gentle things.
Hished meadows and sleeping hills
the trees are in touch with heaven
Under a canopy of quiet,
which stills the restless heart.
Hold back the dawn then
And let the night stay awhile
before the day awakes and the garish
sun sweeps my dreams away.
Catherine Neale