The night was creeping on the ground!
She crept and did not make a sound,
Until she reached the tree: And then
She covered it and stole again
Along the grass beside the wall!
I heard the rustling of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere,
Along the sky, the ground, the air,
And in the room where I was hid!
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out!
So I stared at the night! And she
Stared back solemnly at me!
By James Stephens
From Mildred Harrington’s, “Ring-a-Round” (Macmillan)
as quoted in The Horn Book, August 1930, Vol.6, No.3, p.212.