O night, with inky blackness falls

around the house and garden walls

and creeps through rooms and down the halls.

O night, with heavy moistened breath

upon my lips, the kiss of death

that leaves a taste of rotten flesh.

O night, begone, and take your smile

that says I'm here for quite a while.

You do not charm me, nor beguile.

O night, your cold hands on my face

do not impress me. Nor the pace

at which your cold arm doth embrace.

O night, begone! You shameless whore.

You infiltrator, paramour.

Begone! And let's see you no more!