O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night! Come, naked Virtue's only tire, The reaped harvest of the light Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire. Love calls to war: Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand On glorious Day's outfacing face; And all thy crowned flames command For torches to our nuptial grace. Love calls to war: Sighs his alarms, Lips his swords are, The field his arms. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARRIAGE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY BOOKS by WILLIAM COWPER WINTER'S EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A WINTER WISH by ROBERT HINCKLEY MESSINGER TO HELEN (1) by EDGAR ALLAN POE JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER by ALFRED TENNYSON |