The Night by Hilaire Belloc

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Most holy Night, that still dost keep / The keys of all the doors of sleep, / To me when my tired eyelids close / Give thou repose.

And let the far lament of them / That chaunt the dead day's requiem / Make in my ears, who wakeful lie, / Soft lullaby.

Let them that guard the horned moon / By my bedside their memories croon.

So shall I have new dreams and blest / In my brief rest.

Fold your great wings about my face, / Hide dawning from my resting-place, / And cheat me with your false delight, / Most Holy Night.

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