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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Remorse. (From August Von Platen)
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How I started up in the night, in the night, 
  Drawn on without rest or reprieval! 
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight, 
  As I wandered so light 
  In the night, in the night, 
Through the gate with the arch mediaeval. 

The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height, 
  I leaned o`er the bridge in my yearning; 
Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight, 
  As they glided so light 
  In the night, in the night, 
Yet backward not one was returning. 

O`erhead were revolving, so countless and bright, 
  The stars in melodious existence; 
And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;-- 
  They sparkled so light 
  In the night, in the night, 
Through the magical, measureless distance. 

And upward I gazed in the night, in the night, 
  And again on the waves in their fleeting; 
Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight, 
  Now silence thou light, 
  In the night, in the night, 
The remorse in thy heart that is beating.
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