O radiant Dark! O darkly fostered ray!
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.
The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with the sense of the triumphing night,—
Night with train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.
Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light,
And drew behind the cloudy vale of night.
At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Watchman, what of the night?
Isaiah. XXI. 11.
Night, when deep sleep falleth on men.
The night cometh when no man can work.
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen—
For what listen they?
heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.
| author = Longfellow
| work = Hymn to the Night.
| seealso = (See also Whitman)
| topic = Night
| page = 555
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 12
| text = <poem>O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy fingers on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.
Then stars arise, and the night is holy.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten.
Night hath a thousand eyes.
Quiet night, that brings
Rest to the labourer, is the outlaw's day,
In which he rises early to do wrong,
And when his work is ended dares not sleep.
A night of tears! for the gusty rain
Had ceased, but the eaves were dripping yet;
And the moon look'd forth, as tho' in pain,
With her face all white and wet.
O thievish Night,
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars,
That nature hung in heaven, and filled their
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller?
- * * And when night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. I. L. 500.
| topic = Night
| page = 555
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 21
| text = <poem> Where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors of nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
Sable-vested Night, eldest of things.
- * * For now began
Night with her sullen wings to double-shade
The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couch'd,
And now wild beasts came forth, the woods to roam.
Darkness now rose,
As daylight sunk, and brought in low'ring Night
Her shadowy offspring.
Night is the time for rest;
How sweet, when labours close,
To gather round an aching breast
The curtain of repose,
Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head
Down on our own delightful bed!
