39. When the Lamp is Out

Sing to me of the dark pine woods,

O wind of the night!

Voice to my heart the deep call

Of old hills held in thrall

By the moon’s haunting light.

 

Sing to me of the desolate places,

O breeze of the dark!

Lull my tired soul to its sleep

In the labyrinths deep

Where memories embark.

 

Sing to me when tides are ebbing,

O zephyrs on the sea!

Teach me the faith to believe

That forces recede to retrieve

New stores of energy.

 

Sing to me of the souls now sleeping,

O airs of the south!

Whisper to me of their rest

On the Great Lover’s breast,

With comforting mouth!