Midnight is come,
And thinly in the deepness of the gloom
Truth rises startle-eyed out of a tomb,
                      And we are dumb.

                      A death-bell tolls,
And we still shudder round the too smooth bed,
For truth makes pallid watch above the dead,
                      Freezing our souls.

                      But day returns,
Light and the garish life, and we are brave,
For Truth sinks wanly down into her grave.
                      Yet the heart yearns.

From Colors of life; poems and songs and sonnets (Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1918) by Max Eastman. Copyright © Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. This poem is in the public domain.