How often on my feet of scorn
I've trudged across the early morn
And begged the sun hold back the day
For sluggish hands that would delay
To grasp the torch of duty's call
And wake the house and spoil it all.
Oh Night! whose trains my feet have sped
O'er distant lands where none have tread
And through the rapids of my thought
Have plunged me in almost to naught,
Then brought my back to quiver here
In shelter of an unknown fear,
Then filled my world with glistening gold-
Those flickering scenes for words untold.
Oh Night! Whose fingers slack the grasp
On one who is unwilling cast
Into a day of drudge to steep,
Until you welcome back your sheep.

Adeline Foster

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/o-night-2/