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!