Lives in the joints of mine hands,
Steadies my limbs as they rise,
   Strengthens my foot as it stands.

18

Europe, what of the night?—
   Ask of heaven, and the sea,
   And my babes on the bosom of me,
Nations of mine, but ungrown.
There is one who shall surely requite
   All that endure or that err:
She can answer alone:
   Ask not of me, but of her.

19

Liberty, what of the night?—
   I feel not the red rains fall,
   Hear not the tempest at all,
Nor thunder in heaven any more.
All the distance is white
   With the soundless feet of the sun.
Night, with the woes that it wore,
   Night is over and done.