So thou art come again, old black-winged night, <br /> Like an huge bird, between us and the sun, <br />Hiding, with out-stretched form, the genial light; <br /> And still, beneath thine icy bosom's dun <br />And cloudy plumage, hatching fog-breathed blight <br /> And embryo storms, and crabbéd frosts, that shun <br />Day's warm caress. The owls from ivied loop <br /> Are shrieking homage, as thou cowerest high; <br />Like sable crow pausing in eager stoop <br /> On the dim world thou gluttest thy clouded eye, <br />Silently waiting latest time's fell whoop, <br /> When thou shalt quit thine eyrie in the sky, <br /> To pounce upon the world with eager claw, <br />And tomb time, death, and substance in thy maw.<br /><br />Thomas Lovell Beddoes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-night-2/
