An ominous bird sang from its branch,
“Beware, O Wanderer!
Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled
Draws swiftly near:

“Night with her darkened caravans,
Piled deep with silver and myrrh,
Draws from the portals of the East,
O Wanderer, near.

“Night who walks plumèd through the fields
Of stars that strangely stir—
Smitten to fire by the sandals of him
Who walks with her.”