I have said to the moon, ``Sail on.'' I will let trees whisper endlessly, and set
my pane against the dark as light
goes out around my lifted hand. May night
be charitable to all things out
in it - small things that run about
to water or tufts of grass where
generally they do not dare
What do I know
of night - what it intends?
Is it beneficent? So much depends
on how it handles shadows, wind, the cold.
I watch it full of tossing leaves and bold
stars, and old
paths, and what else will come
to be vulnerable and venturesome
when I have dimmed my lamp and closed my eyes.
I think, ``Be good! Be kind! If you cannot, be wise!''
And turn the switch of the lamp upon the shelf
and trust the night, and leave it to itself.