AFTER THE NEO-PLATONISTS

By John William Draper

Night wove her web across the sun that died

In crimson colors; velvet-falling gloom

Hung curtain-wise, and, like some rich perfume,

Formed the soft essence of each wind that sighed.

Out of my casement through the dark, I spied

The moon afloat in tide of golden spume

Like some fair flower opening into bloom;

The earth lay dim; the Heavens starry-eyed;

And breezes softer than a maiden's breath

Hushed all the air. O night, how sweet thy charm!

Yet not thy moon, nor stars, nor wind, each one

Of these shall pass when we are changed by death —

But rather sleep, thou death-in-life, more warm

Yet not so sweet as sweet oblivion.