The night is old, and all the world <br />Is wearied out with strife; <br />A long gray mist lies heavy and wan <br />Above the house of life. <br /> <br />Four stars burn up and are unquelled <br />By the low, shrunken moon; <br />Her spirit draws her down and down-- <br />She shall be buried soon. <br /> <br />There is a sound that is no sound, <br />Yet fine it falls and clear, <br />The whisper of the spinning earth <br />To the tranced atmosphere. <br /> <br />An odour lives where once was air, <br />A strange, unearthly scent, <br />From the burning of the four great stars <br />Within the firmament. <br /> <br />The universe, deathless and old, <br />Breathes, yet is void of breath: <br />As still as death that seems to move <br />And yet is still as death.<br /><br />Duncan Campbell Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-163/
