Quotes
Quotes about Night
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
Comus and his midnight crew.
From toil he wins his spirits light,
From busy day the peaceful night;
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest, contriv'd a double debt to pay,--
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,
Adorns and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,--
A cap by night, a stocking all the day.
No radiant pearl which crested Fortune wears,
No gem that twinkling hangs from Beauty's ears,
Not the bright stars which Night's blue arch adorn,
Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn,
Shine with such lustre as the tear that flows
Down Virtue's manly cheek for others' woes.
The dews of summer nights did fall,
The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall
And many an oak that grew thereby.
There was a jolly miller once,
Lived on the river Dee;
He worked and sung from morn till night:
No lark more blithe than he.
At the close of the day when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
Oh when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
Life! we 've been long together
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'T is hard to part when friends are dear,--
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not "Good night," but in some brighter clime
Bid me "Good morning."
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane.
A prince can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he maunna fa' that.
Torn from their destined page (unworthy meed
Of knightly counsel and heroic deed).
Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
To all, to each! a fair good-night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil nor night of waking.
Nor sink those stars in empty night:
They hide themselves in heaven's own light.
Night is the time to weep,
To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of memory where sleep
The joys of other years.
Here in the body pent,
Absent from Him I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.
