- Tis now the very witching time of night,
- When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
- Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
- And do such bitter business, as the day
- Would quake to look on.
- The moon like a flower
- In heaven's high bower,
- With silent delight,
- Sits and smiles on the night.
Night, the mother of fear and mystery.
A marvellous stillness pervaded the world, and the stars, together with the serenity of their rays, seemed to shed upon the earth the assurance of everlasting security. The young moon recurved, and shining low in the west, was like a slender shaving thrown up from a bar of gold, and the Arabian Sea, smooth and cool to the eye like a sheet of ice, extended its perfect level to the perfect circle of a dark horizon.
- Many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,
- And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,
- Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,
- Or shroud in gloomy twilight.
- Or in the night, imagining some fear,
- How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
Nighttime ... the time of change and affliction.
- The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve;
- Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
The sky was clear -- remarkably clear -- and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.
- Night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
- And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;
- At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
- Troop home to churchyards.
No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.
Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world.
The barbarians come out at night.
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