Brake the flames of the stars.
In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand
Over keys, bolts and bars.

A face peered. All the grey night
In chaos of vacancy shone;
Nought but vast Sorrow was there--
The sweet cheat gone.


LUKE HAVERGAL: EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,--
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,--
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some,--
Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal--
Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;
But there where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies--
In eastern skies.