Repose.

von Herkomer, The Cornfield, 1887

AT that HOUR

At that hour when all things have repose, 

O lonely watcher of the skies, 

Do you hear the night wind and the sighs 

Of harps playing unto Love to unclose 

The pale gates of sunrise? 

When all things repose, do you alone 

Awake to hear the sweet harps play 

To Love before him on his way, 

And the night wind answering in antiphon 

Till night is overgone? 

Play on, invisible harps, unto Love, 

Whose way in heaven is aglow 

At that hour when soft lights come and go, 

Soft sweet music in the air above 

And in the earth below.

James Joyce