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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet XXXIX. To Night. From The Same.
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I LOVE thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veil`d in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o`er the waters of the restless main.
In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf cold elements complain,
And tell the embosom`d grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind.
Though no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee--cheerless as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom the exhausted heart
Is calm, though wretched; hopeless, yet resigned.
While to the winds and waves its sorrows given, 
May reach--though lost on earth--the ear of Heaven!
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