Waves of the gentle waters of the healing night,
Flow over me with silent peace and golden dark,
Wash me of sound, wash me of colour, drown the day;
Light the tall golden candles and put out the day.
Smells of the valley gather round me with the night:
Honey is in the wind and salt is in the wind,
Like a drugged cup with hot sweet scents of sleepy herbs
And sharp with fiery breaths of coolness in the cup,
Wind of the sea, wind of the valley, drunken wind.
Out of the valley, voices; hark, beyond the hedge
A long deep sigh, the human sighing of a beat;
Under the eaves the last low twitter in the thatch;
Across the valley, harsh and sweet, the patient whirr
Of the untiring bird that tells the hours of night.
Else, silence in the valley while the night goes by
Like quiet waters flowing over the loud day's
Brightness, the empty sea, and the vexed heart of man.
