SING no more in mournful tones <br /> <br />Of the loneliness of night; <br />For 'tis made, ye beauteous ones, <br /> <br />For all social pleasures bright. <br /> <br />As of old to man a wife <br /> <br />As his better half was given, <br />So the night is half our life, <br /> <br />And the fairest under heaven. <br /> <br />How can ye enjoy the day, <br /> <br />Which obstructs our rapture's tide? <br />Let it waste itself away; <br /> <br />Worthless 'tis for aught beside. <br /> <br />But when in the darkling hours <br /> <br />From the lamp soft rays are glowing, <br />And from mouth to mouth sweet showers, <br /> <br />Now of jest, now love, are flowing,-- <br /> <br />When the nimble, wanton boy, <br /> <br />Who so wildly spends his days, <br />Oft amid light sports with joy <br /> <br />O'er some trifling gift delays, <br /> <br />When the nightingale is singing <br /> <br />Strains the lover holds so dear, <br />Though like sighs and wailings ringing <br /> <br />In the mournful captive's ear,-- <br /> <br />With what heart-emotion blest <br /> <br />Do ye hearken to the bell, <br />Wont of safety and of rest <br /> <br />With twelve solemn strokes to tell! <br /> <br />Therefore in each heavy hour, <br /> <br />Let this precept fill your heart: <br />O'er each day will sorrow loud, <br /> <br />Rapture ev'ry night impart.<br /><br />Johann Wolfgang von Goethe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-12/
