Literary Club Contributions – Summer Term 1917


It came to pass that in the ageless Halls of Time, the Hours and the Minutes prepared a banquet in honour of the Birthday of Night, the eldest daughter of Time. And when the hour came that Twilight broods lightly over the world and releases Night and her sister Day from their duties, the dusky-haired daughter of Time emerged from her “misty eastern cave,” clad in her sombre robes, holding her moon lamp in her hand, and veiling it with her rippling hair. She sped with winged feet over the whispering ocean, until at last she reached the flaming portals of the Hall of Eternity. There her father met her, and embracing her and her daughter Sleep, led them through the echoing halls up to the banqueting table. There the assembled guests rose and welcomed her; and so, while Twilight still hung over the world, the assembled guests held high revel in the Halls of Time. And Death, with his grim and hollow laugh, and his mirthless eyes, and when he spoke, the faintest shadow could be seen upon the brow of Night.
The brilliant banquet drew to a close, and the lights burned brightly as darkness came on. Then the door opened, and sober Twilight came in, tired after her vigil and long journey, and with her entrance Night rose to go. Once more she took her moon lamp in her hand, and, hiding its lustre with her black hair, she flitted silently through the blazing doorway out into the great airy spaces which lie between the Halls of Eternity.

Night flew silently over a Battlefield in France, and unveiled her lamp. By its rays she gazed down upon the silent trenches, on the tangled wire gleaming brightly in the moonlight, and on the motionless Sentries; farther back she looked at the roads, gleaming white, and at the mined houses peeping from the trees.
Then her eyes travelling back to the ground in front of the trenches, she saw Death stalking grimly in search of victims.
With a little shiver Night turned away, and hiding the moon under her robes she moved silently over the face of Europe until the coming of Dawn-gold, pink and white-came to relieve her of her vigil. Weary Night extinguished her lamp and slowly, slowly moved off the face of the world to her misty cave, there to rest in preparation for her next vigil.



Some talk of the night in the Summer-time,
When the dancing’s gay on the lawn,
And soft move the feet to the music’s chime
Till the first pale light of the dawn
But give me a- boat and the river’s balm
When the night-sound, all seem to sigh
A low, quiet song and a moonlight calm,
With the twinkling stars in the sky.
Some talk of the night in the Winter-time,
When the dancing’s gay in the hall,
And soft move the feet to the chime
Tilt the very end of the Ball.
But give me a hook and a good arm-chair,
And my dear dumb friends close beside,
And safety and warmth in the firelight flare
And the frosty moonlight outside.