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.
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.
The Day Is Done
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.
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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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:
'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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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.