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Night

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I love night the most because she brings
My love to me in dreams which scarcely lie. —Philip James Bailey

Night, or nighttime, is the period of darkness when the Sun is below the horizon. Sunlight illuminates one side of the Earth, leaving the other shrouded in darkness. The opposite of nighttime is daytime. Earth's rotation causes the appearance of sunrise and sunset. Moonlight, airglow, starlight, and light pollution dimly illuminate night.

Arranged alphabetically by author or source:
A · B · C · D · E · F · G · H · I · J · K · L · M · N · O · P · Q · R · S · T · U · V · W · X · Y · Z · See also · External links

A

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  • Night is a stealthy, evil Raven,
    Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.
  • The summer demands and takes away too much.
    But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes.
    • John Ashbery, "As One Put Drunk into a Packet-Boat"; Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror (1975)
  • Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.

Anonymous

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  • The uniform darkness, fount of the gods,
    The place from which the birds come...
    Open to the Duat that is on her northern side
    With her rear in the east and her head in the west.
    • Inscription addressed to the goddess Nut under a representation on the ceiling of the temple of Seti; reported in Rose Hammond, Islands in the Sky: The Four-Dimensional Journey of Odysseus through Space and Time (2013), p. 118
  •    Came in wan night
    The shadow-goer stepping.
    • Beowulf, sec. IV; tr. James M. Garnett (3rd ed., 1893); Hoyt's (1922), p. 554: "Wan night, the shadow goer, came stepping in."
  • But we that have but span-long life,
      The thicker must lay on the pleasure;
        And since time will not stay,
        We'll add night to the day,
      Thus, thus we'll fill the measure.
    • Duet printed 1795, probably of earlier date; Hoyt's (1922), p. 556

B

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Night's black Mantle covers all alike.
Du Bartas
  • Night comes, world-jewelled, * * *
    The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage
    War with the lines of Darkness; and the moon,
    Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth
    After the sun's red sea-death—quietless.
  • I love night more than day—she is so lovely;
    But I love night the most because she brings
    My love to me in dreams which scarcely lie.
    • Philip James Bailey, Festus (1813), scene Water and Wood: Midnight
  • II est doux, à travers les brumes, de voir naître
    L'étoile dans l'azur, la lampe à la fenêtre
    Les fleuves de charbon monter au firmament
    Et la lune verser son pâle enchantement.
    Je verrai les printemps, les étés, les automnes;
    Et quand viendra l'hiver aux neiges monotones,
    Je fermerai partout portières et volets
    Pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais.
    • I want to watch the blue mist of the night come on,
      The windows and the stars illumined, one by one,
      The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily,
      And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see
      The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass;
      And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass,
      I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight,
      And build me stately palaces by candlelight.
    • Charles Baudelaire, "Paysage", Les Fleurs du Mal (1861; 1868), tr. George Dillon (1936)
  • II était tard; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve
    La pleine lune s'étalait,
    Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve,
    Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
    • A medal, newly-coined, of flashing silver,
      The full moon shone. The night was old.
      Its solemn grandeur, like a mighty river,
      Through sleeping Paris softly rolled.
    • Charles Baudelaire, "Confession", Les Fleurs du Mal (1857; 1861; 1868), tr. Roy Campbell (1952)
  • Two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal.
  • I live among the creatures of the night
    I haven't got the will to try and fight
    Against a new tomorrow, so I guess I'll just believe it
    That tomorrow never comes.
    A safe night, I'm living in the forest of my dream
    I know the night is not as it would seem
    I must believe in something, so I'll make myself believe it
    That this night will never go.
  • The Night has a thousand eyes,
      The Day but one;
    Yet the light of the bright world dies
      With the dying sun.
  • Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ, three a.m.! Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You’re the nearest to dead you’ll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you’d slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that’s burned dry. The moon rolls by to look at you down there, with its idiot face. It’s a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life, the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead – And wasn’t it true, had he read somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 a.m. than at any other time...?
    • Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962), ch. 14
  • The night is the hardest time to be alive...and 4 a.m. knows all my secrets.
  • Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.
    • Poppy Z. Brite, as quoted in Justin Barrow, Life with Ziggy (2014), ch. 10
  • I love the silent hour of night,
    For blissful dreams may then arise,
    Revealing to my charmèd sight,
    What may not bless my waking eyes.
  • Night was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the companionship of fear.
Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! —Byron
  • For the night
    Shows stars and women in a better light.
    • Lord Byron, Don Juan (1818–24), canto II, st. 152
  • The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
    Of the snow-shining mountains—Beautiful!
    I linger yet with Nature, for the night
    Hath been to me a more familiar face
    Than that of man; and in her starry shade
    Of dim and solitary loveliness
    I learn'd the language of another world.

C

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  • There never was night that had no morn.
    • Dinah Craik, "The Golden Gate", refrain; Thirty Years (1881), p. 317

D

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  • It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, so bright that, looking at it, one could not help asking oneself whether ill-humoured and capricious people could live under such a sky. That is a youthful question too, dear reader, very youthful, but may the Lord put it more frequently into your heart!

E

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Dark the night
Yet is she bright,
For in her dark she brings the mystic star.
  • Dark the Night, with breath all flowers,
    And tender broken voice that fills
    With ravishment the listening hours,—
    Whisperings, wooings,
    Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings
    In low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills!
    Dark the night
    Yet is she bright,
    For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
    Trembling yet strong, as is the voice of love,
    From some unknown afar.
  • O radiant Dark! O darkly fostered ray!
    Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.
    • George Eliot, The Spanish Gypsy (1868), bk. I

F

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  • The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.

G

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  • 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.

H

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  • Why are the heavens not filled with light? Why is the universe plunged into darkness?
  • Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour.
    Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.
    Turn your face away from the garish light of day,
    Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light,
    And listen to the music of the night.
    • Charles Hart, "The Music of the Night"; The Phantom of the Opera (1986)
  • 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.
    • William Ernest Henley, "Margaritæ Sorori", st. 2; A Book of Verses (1891), p. 99
  • There is a dead spot in the night, that coldest, blackest time when the world has forgotten evening and dawn is not yet a promise. A time when it is far too early to arise, but so late that going to bed makes small sense.
  • 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.

I

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  • Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farm-house where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination: the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hill side; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl; or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token.
  • Watchman, what of the night?

J

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  • Night, when deep sleep falleth on men.
    • Job 4:13; 33:15 (KJV)
  • The night cometh when no man can work.

K

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  • '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?
    • John Keats, "A Prophecy", l. 1; letter to George Keats, 29 Oct. 1818
  • Now Rann, the Kite, brings home the night
       That Mang, the Bat, sets free—
    The herds are shut in byre and hut,
       For loosed till dawn are we.
    This is the hour of pride and power,
       Talon and tush and claw.
    Oh, hear the call!—Good hunting all
       That keep the Jungle Law!
  • Noć je saveznik tužnih ljudi.
    • Night is an ally of sorrowful people.
    • Ivo Kozarčanin, reported in Velika knjiga aforizama, vol. 4 (Prosvjeta-Globus, 1984)

L

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  • People talk about nightfall, or night falling, or dusk falling, and it’s never seemed right to me. Perhaps they once meant befalling. As in night befalls. As in night happens. Perhaps they, whoever they were, thought of a falling sun. That might be it, except that that ought to give us dayfall. Day fell on Rupert the Bear. And we know, if we’ve ever read a book, that day doesn’t fall or rise. It breaks. In books, day breaks, and night falls.
    In life, night rises from the ground. The day hangs on for as long as it can, bright and eager, absolutely and positively the last guest to leave the party, while the ground darkens, oozing night around your ankles, swallowing for ever that dropped contact lens, making you miss that low catch in the gully on the last ball of the last over.
  • In the dark I rest,
    unready for the light which dawns
    day after day,
    eager to be shared.
    Black silk, shelter me.
    I need
    more of the night before I open
    eyes and heart
    to illumination. I must still
    grow in the dark like a root
    not ready, not ready at all.
  • 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.
    • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Hymn to the Night", st. 5; Voices of the Night (1839), pp. 3–4
  • Then stars arise, and the night is holy.
    • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Hyperion (1839), bk. I, ch. I
  • 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.
    • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Proem: "The Day is Done" (Dec. 1844), st. 11; The Waif (1845), p. xi
  • 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. —Lyly
  • It was one of those nights
    One of those nights
    When you feel the world stop turning
    You were standing there
    There was music in the air
    I should have been away
    But I knew I had to stay.

M

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  • This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.
  • 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.
  • Night...was dense, thicker than the very walls, and it was empty, so black, so immense that within it you could brush against appalling things and feel roaming and prowling around a strange, mysterious horror.
    • Guy de Maupassant, "The Case of Louise Roque"; tr. Arnold Kellett, The Dark Side of Guy de Maupassant (1989)
  • The warm night claimed her. In a moment it was part of her. She walked on the grass, and her shoes were instantly soaked. She flung up her arms to the sky. Power ran to her fingertips. Excitement was communicated from the waiting trees, and the orchard, and the paddock; the intensity of their secret life caught at her and made her run. It was nothing like the excitement of ordinary looking forward, of birthday presents, of Christmas stockings, but the pull of a magnet—her grandfather had shown her once how it worked, little needles springing to the jaws—and now night and the sky above were a vast magnet, and the things that waited below were needles, caught up in the great demand
  • 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.
  • I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars.
  • No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,
    Watches beside me in this windy place.
  • 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 lamps
    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.
  • Where eldest Night
    And Chaos, ancestors of nature, hold
    Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
    Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
    • John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667; 1674), bk. II, l. 894
  • Sable-vested Night, eldest of things.
    • John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667; 1674), bk. II, l. 962
  • ... 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.
    • John Milton, Paradise Regained (1671), bk. IV, l. 397
  • 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!
  • I'm going out after supper to walk all over the old orchard by moonlight. I suppose I'll have to go to bed finally... though I've always thought sleeping on moonlight nights a waste of time...
  • Then awake!—the heavens look bright, my dear!
    'Tis never too late for delight, my dear!
      And the best of all ways
      To lengthen our days
    Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
    • Thomas Moore, "The Young May Moon", st. 1; Irish Melodies (1821), p. 113
  • The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

N

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  • There were once two sisters who were not afraid of the dark because the dark was full of the other's voice across the room, because even when the night was thick and starless they walked home together from the river seeing who could last the longest without turning on her flashlight, not afraid because sometimes in the pitch of night they'd lie on their backs in the middle of the path and look up until the stars came back and when they did, they'd reach their arms up to touch them and did.
  • It is night: now all fountains speak more loudly. And my soul too is a fountain.
    It is night: only now all the songs of the lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover.
    An unstilled, an unstillable something is in me; it wants to be heard. A craving for love is in me, which itself speaks the language of love.
    [...]
    It is night: alas that I must be light! And thirst for the nocturnal! And loneliness!
    It is night: now my longing breaks out of me like a well – I long to speak.
    It is night: now all fountains speak more loudly. And my soul too is a fountain.
    It is night: only now all the songs of the lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover.
  • The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding.

O

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  • We love the night and its quiet; and there is no night that we love so well as that on which the moon is coffined in clouds.

P

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  • Day is ended, Darkness shrouds
    The shoreless seas and lowering clouds.
  • The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
    Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
    Letting in the light, peephole after peephole—
    A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
    • Sylvia Plath, "Insomniac" (wr. April 1961); Crossing the Water (1971)
  • The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
    Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
    • Sylvia Plath, "The Moon and the Yew Tree", st. 3; Ariel (1965)
  • Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls,
    And makes night hideous;—Answer him, ye owls!

R

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  • O Night, most beautiful and rare!
      Thou giv'st the heavens their holiest hue,
    And through the azure fields of air
      Bring'st down the gentle dew.
  • The night is well along; the day has drawn near. Let us therefore throw off the works belonging to darkness and let us put on the weapons of the light.
  • Ce que j'ôte à mes nuits, je l'ajoute à mes jours.
    • What I take from my nights, I add to my days.
    • Ascribed to Jean Rotrou in Venceslas (1647); Hoyt's (1922), p. 556

S

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  • Qu'une nuit paraît longue à la douleur qui veille!
    • How long the night seems to one kept awake by pain.
    • Bernard-Joseph Saurin, Blanche et Guiscard (1763), act V, sc. 5; Hoyt's (1922), p. 556
  • On dreary night let lusty sunshine fall.
    • Friedrich Schiller, "Pompeii and Herculaneum", st. 2; tr. Edward Bulwer-Lytton, The Poems and Ballads of Schiller, 2nd ed. (1852), p. 81
  • To all, to each, a fair good night,
    And pleasing dreams; and slumbers light.
  • There was a sky somewhere above the tops of the buildings, with stars and a moon and all the things there are in a sky, but they were content to think of the distant street lights as planets and stars. If the lights prevented you from seeing the heavens, then perform a little magic and change reality to fit the need. The street lights were now planets and stars and moon.
'Tis now the very witching time of night.
  • In the dead vast and middle of the night.
    • William Shakespeare, Hamlet (1599–1601), act I, sc. 2, l. 198. "Waist" in many editions; afterwards printed "waste"; "Vast" in the quarto of 1603
  • Making night hideous.
    • William Shakespeare, Hamlet (1599–1601), act I, sc. 4, l. 54
  • 'Tis now the very witching time of night,
    When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
    Contagion to this world.
    • William Shakespeare, Hamlet (1599–1601), act III, sc. 2, l. 404
Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
  • Now entertain conjecture of a time
    When creeping murmur and the poring dark
    Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
    • William Shakespeare, Henry V (c. 1599), act IV, prol., l. 1
  •    And night is fled,
    Whose pitchy mantle overveil'd the earth.
  • I must become a borrower of the night
    For a dark hour or twain.
    • William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1605), act III, sc. 1, l. 27
  • Come, seeling night,
    Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;
    And with thy bloody and invisible hand,
    Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
    Which keeps me pale!
    • William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1605), act III, sc. 2, l. 46
  • Light thickens; and the crow
    Makes wing to the rooky wood:
    Good things of the day begin to droop and drowse;
    Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
    • William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1605), act III, sc. 2, l. 50
  • The night is long that never finds the day.
    • William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1605), act IV, sc. 3, l. 240
  • Now the hungry lion roars,
    And the wolf behowls the moon;
    Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
    All with weary task foredone.
  • This is the night
    That either makes me or fordoes me quite.
    • William Shakespeare, Othello (c. 1603), act V, sc. 1, l. 128
  • Come, gentle night, come, loving, blackbrow'd night.
A canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world. —Shelley
  • How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
    Which Vernal Zephyrs breathe in evening's ear
    Were discord to the speaking quietude
    That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
    Studded with stars, unutterably bright,
    Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
    Seems like a canopy which love has spread
    To curtain her sleeping world.
  • Swiftly walk over the western wave,
      Spirit of Night!
    • Percy Bysshe Shelley, "To Night", st. 1; Posthumous Poems (1824), p. 154
  • Night is a time of rigor, but also of mercy. There are truths which one can see only when it’s dark.
  • In day-time we investigate, but at night believe.
  • It is as though night set free the soul and taught its independence of physical organization.
    • Henry James Slack, The Ministry of the Beautiful (1850), "Conversation V: A Journey by Night"
  • How beautiful is night!
    A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
    No mist obscures, nor cloud nor speck nor stain
    Breaks the serene of heaven.
  • The longest way must have its close,—the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning.
  • Moonlight knew no colors and traced the contours of the terrain only very softly. It covered the land a dirty gray, strangling life all night long. This world molded in lead, where nothing moved but the wind that fell sometimes like a shadow over the gray forests, and where nothing lived but the scent of the naked earth, was the only world he accepted, for it was much like the world of his soul.

T

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  • Down the hill I went, and then,
    I forgot the ways of men,
    For night-scents, heady and damp and cool
    Wakened ecstasy in me
    On the brink of a shining pool.
Slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Alfred Tennyson
  • Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,
    Like footsteps upon wool.
  • Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
    And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
    Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
    And all thy heart lies open unto me.
    Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
    A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
    • Alfred Tennyson, The Princess (1847), sec. VII, Song ("Now sleeps the crimson petal")
  • Now black and deep the Night begins to fall,
    A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching Gloom,
    Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth.
    Order confounded lies; all beauty void,
    Distinction lost, and gay variety
    One universal blot: such the fair power
    Of light, to kindle and create the whole.
  • Night is certainly more novel and less profane than day.
  • This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!
  • I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn’t make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me.

U

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  • Come, drink the mystic wine of Night,
    Brimming with silence and the stars;
    While earth, bathed in this holy light,
    Is seen without its scars.

V

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  • It was then night; the sound and quiet sleep
    Had through the earth the wearied bodies caught;
    The woods, the raging seas were fallen to rest;
    When that the stars had half their course declined;
    The fields whist, beasts, and fowls of divers hue,
    And what so that in the broad lakes remained,
    Or yet among the bushy thicks of brier,
    Laid down to sleep by silence of the night
    'Gan swage their cares, mindless of travails past.

W

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  • When, upon orchard and lane, breaks the white foam of the Spring
    When, in extravagant revel, the Dawn, a Bacchante upleaping,
    Spills, on the tresses of Night, vintages golden and red
    When, as a token at parting, munificent Day for remembrance,
    Gives, unto men that forget, Ophirs of fabulous ore.
    • William Watson, "Hymn to the Sea", pt. III, l. 12; The Father of the Forest, &c. (1895), p. 23
  • Press close bare-bosom'd night—press close magnetic nourishing night!
    Night of south winds—night of the large few stars!
    Still nodding night—mad naked summer night.
  • Night begins to muffle up the day.
  • Mysterious night! when our first parent knew
      Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
      Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
    This glorious canopy of light and blue?
  • The summer skies are darkly blue,
    The days are still and bright,
    And Evening trails her robes of gold
    Through the dim halls of Night.
  • Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light,
    I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
  • Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

Y

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  • On nights like this when the air is so clear, you end up saying things you ordinarily wouldn’t. Without even noticing what you’re doing, you open up your heart and just start talking to the person next to you—you talk as if you have no audience but the glittering stars, far overhead.
  • Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
    In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
    Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
    Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound!
    Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds;
    Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
    Of life stood still, and nature made a pause;
    An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
  • How is night's sable mantle labor'd o'er,
    How richly wrought with attributes divine!
    What wisdom shines! what love! this midnight pomp,
    This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid
    Built with divine ambition!
    • Edward Young, Night Thoughts (1742–45), Night IV, l. 385
  • Mine is the night, with all her stars.
    • Edward Young, Paraphrase on Job (1726), l. 147

See also

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