greykit.poetry — #night
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1845
[robert-browning]
Meeting at Night
Grey sea, long black land, a boat pushed into slushy sand, three fields crossed to a farm — and the whole approach discharged in a tap at the pane, a scratched match, and two hearts beating each to each.
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1838
[john-keats]
Bright Star
Keats's last sonnet — not to be fixed in lone, patient, priestlike vigil like the star, but steadfast in one thing: pillowed upon his fair love's ripening breast, awake forever in a sweet unrest, or else swoon to death.
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1830
[lord-byron]
So We'll Go No More a-Roving
Written at twenty-nine after the Venice carnival, Byron's three spare stanzas bid farewell to midnight roving — the sword outwears the sheath, and love itself must rest.