Weary day surrenders to night;

Weary day surrenders to night;

   She wears a pleasant countenance.

Echoes of traffic hush the strife

   Of a long day; a moment of silence

Makes still even the Holy Ghost

   As the cobalt of the sky fades.

A moth makes love to the lamppost

   Knowing the warmth of its rays.

Come darkness, come tomorrow.

   Will they bring the nice thoughts I’ve thought?

Yea, my heart is not shallow

   But guides in a way my eyes cannot.