I walk close to the blinding edge
Of night, but who would care to wander
In fields of dark with never the ledge,
Precipitous, to ponder?

Shunning now the prejudice
Of dissolution, lest it harm me,
I lean above the night that is
Profound enough to charm me.

In crucible that is the mind
I test night's utterness; such fire
Clarifies thought until I find
It veined with faint desire.

Other than this concern with night
I have no love. I am of those
Who, breathing too long in the light,
Cherish the dark repose.