11 Poems About Night

Be inspired by these short poems about night. Find poems that have been written by famous poets and some unknown poets but all of them reflect on the time of night. For some the nighttime brings fear, for others, it brings peace. The night is a time of rest, but looking at the clear sky it can be a time of beauty and amazement as we see the light of the stars. And the different seasons of the year bring different thoughts on the night. And after every night comes the morning! May these poems be ones that give you a sense of night and its purpose.

Short Poems   /   Nature Poems    /   Poems About Night


  1. Dreary Night
    Poet Unknown


    Count not loss the hopes that fall
    Like leaves in autumn, one by one,
    Nor dream the light is vanished all
    As the dark, dreary night wears on.

    You shall know at last that loss was gain,
    That through your weary, toilsome way,
    As you saw the stars in your life-star wave,
    The night was leading to heavenly day.



  2. The Day Is Done
    by IngersoIl


    When the day is done,
    When the work of a life is finished,
    When the gold of evening meets the dusk of night,
    Beneath the silent stars
    The tired laborer should fall asleep.



  3. Gloom Of Night
    Poet: Grace Duffield Goodwin


    The gloom of night is dense and deep;
    Rough is the path as we grope along;
    Courage, Heart, as the shadows creep -
    This is the matin-song:
    After the night is noon;
    After the journey, rest;
    The world will waken in gladness soon,
    And the heart that sings is blest!

    The glare of the sun is hard and hot;
    The road is dusty, the way is long;
    Shift your burden, and heed it not, —
    This is the even song:
    After the noon is night;
    After the journey, rest;
    For the wind will wake and the stars be bright.
    And the heart that sings is blest!



  4. Midnight
    Poet: Lauka S. R. McCarthy


    'Tis night mid-glory. Earth, so calm, so still,
    On couch of space is wrapped in slumber's spell;
    How soft and pure her bosom's rounded swell
    'Neath fleecy robes and placid radiance shed
    From silver orb, like watcher's lamp, o'erhead!
    While starry legions dimly throng and fill
    Her airy chamber, whence all sound is fled
    Save breath of rising prayer, or whir of wings
    As angels viewless pass, or heavenward springs
    The guardian who hath wrought the Father's will.
    Midnight and moonlight, silence, stars, and God -
    Sublimest height Diurnal Time hath trod.



  5. Young Night Thought
    Poet: Robert Louis Stevenson


    All night long and every night,
    When my mamma puts out the light,
    I see the people marching by,
    As plain as day, before my eye.

    Armies and emperors and kings.
    All carrying different kinds of things.
    And marching in so grand a way.
    You never saw the like by day.

    So fine a show was never seen,
    At the great circus on the green;
    For every kind of beast and man
    Is marching in that caravan.

    At first they move a little slow.
    But still the faster on they go.
    And still beside them close I keep
    Until we reach the town of Sleep.



  6. Hymn Of The Night
    Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


    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 presence of the Night,
    As of the one I love.

    I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
    The manifold, soft chimes,
    That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
    Like some old poet's rhymes.

    From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
    My spirit drank repose;
    The fountain of perpetual peace flows there -
    From those deep cisterns flows.

    O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
    What man has borne before!
    Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
    And they complain no more.

    Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
    Descend with broad-wingred flight,
    The welcome, the thrice-prayed for most fair,
    The best-beloved Night!



  7. The Night
    Poet: F. W. Bourdilhn


    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.



  8. Night
    Poet: Unknown


    Low hangs the heavy moon, and low
    The drowsy locust droops with sleep;
    Across the quiet fields below,
    And where the languid lilies blow
    On sluggish waters, still and deep,
    The balmy zephyrs, to and fro,
    In slumbrous silence creep.

    The stars seem pausing in the sky
    Around their listless planet-queen;
    The trees have hushed their lullaby;
    And sylvan songsters, cradled high,
    Dream lightly in their chambers green;
    All things are resting; only I,
    Sink not in sleep serene.



  9. Winter Charms
    Poet: Elsie E. Egermeier


    When the twilight steals upon us,
    Ending thus the wintry day,
    When the atmosphere is chilly
    And the sky is cold and gray,
    We retreat with willing footsteps
    Near the fire-glow on the hearth
    Where the family circle gathers -
    Dearest spot in all the earth.

    Soon the twilight shades grow deeper
    Till they darken into night,
    And we hear the north wind sobbing
    As if driven on in fright
    Through the treetops, round the corner,
    Till at last its mournful tone
    Slowly dies out in the distance
    And no more we hear it moan.

    Then, while we are lost in slumber,
    Silently doth Nature toil
    Robing earth in dazzling garments -
    Nothing does her efforts foil;
    Every tree and shrub and bower
    Must be clothed with special care
    In the clear and crystal raiment
    Which she wishes them to wear.

    When this task she has completed,
    She retires with ease and grace
    To await the dawn of morning
    In her own appointed place.
    Not one twig has been neglected,
    Not one withered blade of grass,
    Each one now is well enclosed
    In its winter house of glass.

    Now the early dawn is breaking,
    Bidding darkness flee away;
    See, upon the clear horizon
    Shines the glowing orb of day;
    Night is past — behold the morning
    Bursting forth with glorious light!
    Could there be a scene whose beauty
    Would surpass this lovely sight?

    Springtime has her buds and blossoms,
    Summer boasts of roses fair,
    Autumn's pride is golden harvests,
    But of these can none compare
    With the glowing charms of Winter
    When his crystal fields we view,
    Sparkling in the brilliant sunlight
    As the day breaks forth anew.



  10. Summer Night Sounds
    Poet: Louisa P. W. Palmiter


    "Tis sweet to sit,
    Ere the lamps are lit,
    By the vine-wreathed casement, listening
    When the winds are still,
    And the cricket's trill
    Is heard where the dew is glistening:
    "Cheereet, cheereet."

    'Tis a summer night,
    With a moon so bright,
    That the fire-fly lamps are pale,
    And all night long-,
    Comes a mournful song
    From a lone bird in the vale:
    "Whippoorwill, whippoorwill."

    In a shady nook,
    By the side of the brook,
    Hid away from the prying moon,
    On a moss-grown log,
    Some love-lorn frog
    Is singing this mellow tune:
    "Ker-chug, ker-chug."

    And a little beyond,
    Just over the pond,
    From a tall tree on the bank,
    Comes faint, but clear
    To my listening ear,
    The song of a feathered crank:
    "Too-whoo, too-whoo."

    Then a gossip unseen,
    In the ivy green,
    Repeats to a drowsy bird
    A scandalous tale
    Of some mortal frail,
    And these are the words I heard:
    "Katydid, katydid."

    And across the way,
    By the bright moon's ray
    A youth and maiden are seen,
    And I hear a repeat
    Of the old words, sweet,
    As the gate swings to, between:
    "Good-night, good-night."



  11. The Autumn Evening
    Poet: J. J. McGirk


    Sadly dies the autumn day,
    In moaning winds and sunset gray;
    The forest trees, with branches bare.
    Upraise their arms as though in prayer,
    While at their feet the dead leaves lie
    Hushed and sad and silently.

    The gray squirrel from his dizzy height
    Perceives the fast approaching night,
    And with quick and startled leap,
    Scrambles to his nest and sleep,
    While deep within the wood is heard
    The plaintive cry of the midnight bird.

    Now just above the western hills,
    The dark clouds part, and sunlight fills
    The forest, and the saddened scene
    Is glorified in the golden sheen
    Of the setting sun.

    So, sweetly on my saddened life,
    Dark with sickness and with strife,
    There falls the sunlight of God's love,
    With hope that in his home above,
    "When life and sorrow both be past,
    My weary feet will rest at last.

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