NIGHT

After the fret and failure of this day,

And weariness of thought, O Mother Night,

Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away

And all our little tumults set to right;

Most pitiful of all death’s kindred fair,

Riding above us through the curtained air

On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to earth

Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might

From Spirits in Bondage

C.S. Lewis