Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Night and the Merry Man lyrics

   NIGHT. 'Neath my moon what doest thou, With a somewhat paler brow Than she giveth to the ocean? He, without a pulse or motion, Muttering low before her stands, Lifting his invoking hands Like a seer before a sprite, To catch her oracles of light: But thy soul out-trembles now Many pulses on thy brow. Where be all thy laughters clear, Others laughed alone to hear? Where thy quaint jests, said for fame? Where thy dances, mixed with game? Where thy festive companies, Moonèd o'er with ladies' eyes All more bright for thee, I trow? 'Neath my moon what doest thou?    THE MERRY MAN. I am digging my warm heart Till I find its coldest part; I am digging wide and low, Further than a spade will go, Till that, when the pit is deep And large enough, I there may heap All my present pain and past Joy, dead things that look aghast By the daylight: now 't is done. Throw them in, by one and one! I must laugh, at rising sun.