I gazed, with unaccustomed eyes, on night,
Whose blackness dazzled more than midday sun,
It rather seem’d, some new intenser light,
Through which immortal powers, far wandering, run:
I gazed, and hurled my curses at the rage,
That traced its will on such a reckless course;
Methought, a golden form of light did cage
My utterance’ portals, strengthening vision’s source;
And, fool, it cried, look nearer, nor despair.
I saw, ’twas, as the thunder-cloud, that burst
Is glorious with the lightning, a child’s hair
Within whose gold entwined sunbeams are nurst,
No cradle else so sweet; it was the breath
Whose loveliness of life scares dreary death.