The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

1

The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand....

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love...

Poet: Thomas Moore

Vous n’avez pas eu toute patience,
Cela se comprend par malheur, de reste ;
Vous êtes si jeune ! Et l’insouciance,
C’est le lot amer de l’âge céleste !

Vous n’avez pas eu toute la douceur,
Cela par malheur d’ailleurs se comprend ;
Vous êtes si jeune, ô ma...

There are harps that complain to the presence of night,
  To the presence of night alone—
  In a near and unchangeable tone—
Like winds, full of sound, that go whispering by,
As if some immortal had stooped from the sky,
  And breathed out a blessing—and...

Poet: John Neal

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
  Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
  From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
  Stoop o’er me from above;
The calm, majestic...

  in the still, star-lit night,
By the full fountain and the willow-tree,
  I walked, and not alone—
A spirit walked with me!

  A shade fell on the grass;
Upon the water fell a deeper shade:
  Something the willow stirred,
For to and fro...

I feel the breath of the summer night,
    Aromatic fire:
The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir
    With tender desire.

The white moths flutter about the lamp,
    Enamoured with light;
And a thousand creatures softly sing
    A...

The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home;
  ’T is summer, the darkeys are gay;
The corn-top’s ripe, and the meadow’s in the bloom,
  While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
  All merry, all happy and...

When stars pursue their solemn flight,
Oft in the middle of the night,
A strain of music visits me,
Hushed in a moment silverly,—
Such rich and rapturous strains as make
The very soul of silence ache
With longing for the melody;

Or lovers...