Mother of balms and soothings manifold, <br />Quiet-breathed night whose brooding hours are seven, <br />To whom the voices of all rest are given, <br />And those few stars whose scattered names are told, <br />Far off beyond the westward hills outrolled, <br />Darker than thou, more still, more dreamy even, <br />The golden moon leans in the dusky heaven, <br />And under the one star-a point of gold: <br /> <br />And all go slowly lingering toward the west, <br />As we go down forgetfully to our rest, <br />Weary of daytime, tired of noise and light: <br />Ah, it was time that thou should'st come; for we <br />Were sore athirst, and had great need of thee, <br />Thou sweet physician, balmy-blossomed night.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/midsummer-night-2/
