Mysterious night, when the first man but knew Thee by report, unseen, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven came, And lo! creation widen'd on his view. Who could have thought what darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun? Or who could find, Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood reveal'd, That to such endless orbs thou mad'st us blind? Weak man! Why to shun death this anxious strife? If _light_ can thus deceive, wherefore not _life_?" In a letter from Coleridge to White, dated Nov. 28, 1827, he thus speaks of it: "I have now before me two fragments of letters _begun_, the one in acknowledgment of the finest and most graceful sonnet in our language (at least it is only in Milton's and Wordsworth's sonnets that I {470} recollect any rival, and this is not my judgment alone, but that of the man [Greek: kat' exochên philokalon], John Hookham Frere), the second on the receipt of your 'Letter to Charles Butler,'" &c. In a subsequent letter, without date, Coleridge thus again reverts to the circumstance of its having been published without his or White's sanction: "But first of your sonnet. On reading the sentences in your letter respecting it, I stood staring vacantly on the paper, in a state of feeling not unlike that which I have too often experienced in a dream: when I have found myself in chains, or in rags, shunned, or passed by, with looks of horror blended with sadness, by friends and acquaintance; and convinced that, in some alienation of mind, I must have perpetrated some crime, which I strove in vain to recollect. I then ran down to Mrs. Gillman, to learn whether she or Mr. Gillman could throw any light on the subject. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Gillman could account for it. I have repeated the sonnet often, but, to the best of my recollection, never either gave a copy to any one, or permitted any one to transcribe it; and as to publishing it without your consent, you must allow me to say the truth: I had felt myself so much flattered by your having addressed it to me, that I should have been half afraid that it would appear to be asking to have my vanity tickled, if I had thought of applying to you for permission to publish it. Where and when did it appear? If you will be so good as to inform me, I may perhaps trace it out: for it annoys me to imagine myself capable of such a breach of confidence and of delicacy." In his Journal, October 16 [1838?], Blanco White says: "In copying out my 'Sonnet on Night and Death' for a friend, I have made some corrections. It is now as follows: