NIGHT, DIM NIGHT

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains,

( Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder )

The trees are sad, and the wind complains,

Outside the rolling of the thunder,

And the beat against the panes.

Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain,

( Are thy redolent lips a-quiver? )

My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain?

My love goes surging like a river,

Shall its tide bear naught save pain?