Quotes About Night

A Glimpse A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark'd seated in a corner, Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand, A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest, There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.

Beautiful dripping fragments—the negligent list of one after another, as I happen to call them to me, or think of them, The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,) The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me, This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always carry, and that all men carry

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. 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. — Walt Whitman, from "Song of Myself, 21," Leaves of Grass: The Deathbed Edition (BOMC, 1992)

Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read

But a cluster containing night's darkness and blood-dripping wounds, And psalms of the dead.

I wander all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers...

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

Youth, Day, Old Age and Night Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth full of grace, force, fascination, Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?

The earth recedes from me into the night, I saw that it was beautiful . . . . and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.

Low hangs the moon, it rose late,  It is lagging - O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

With the sentiment of the stars and moon such nights I get all the free margins and indefiniteness of music or poetry, fused in geometry's utmost exactness.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Shake out carols! Solitary here, the night's carols! Carols of lonesome love! death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea! O reckless despairing carols.

I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused, flowing, sounds of the city, sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night.

The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation.

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best. Night, sleep, and the stars. ? Walt Whitman, "A Clear Midnight," in the section From Noon to Starry Night in the seventh edition of Leaves of Grass (1881)

O soul, thou pleasest me—I thee; Sailing these seas, or on the hills, or waking in the night, Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time, and Space, and Death, like waters flowing...

The myth of heaven indicates peace and night. The myth of heaven indicates the soul; The soul is always beautiful . . . it appears more or it appears less . . . it comes or lags behind

Night, sleep, death and the stars.

For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast - and that night I was happy

For you to sleep well at night, the aesthetic, the quality, has to be carried all the way through.

So I asked him to go on the night shift. It was a way

through most of the night. Even thus isolated, he became known for his brashness. On those occasions

While the men and various dignitaries celebrated, Jennings and Snyder made their way home alone through a very cold February night.