I lay beneath the Afric stars awake,
While all the neighbour-noise of city slept,
And all the solace of the silence crept
Into the turmoil of my spirit's ache;
And this worn heart, whereon life's billows break,
Was smoothed; the futile cares o'er which had wept
These weary eyes, where careless joys had leapt,
A slow and sweet transfiguring grace did take.
With wide lids open to the glorious night,
With soul and sense entranquill'd by the calm,
I lay awake, while in procession bright
The holy-hymning stars with spheric psalm
Bedew'd my inmost being with delight--
Yea, with the fragrance of enduring balm.