Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.

Night falls fast. Today is the past.

I’ve always felt that night doesn’t fall. Night rises.

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

Why is it called 'after dark' when it really is 'after light'?

The sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings.

The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.

We stay this way until twilight colours the window and the hour calls me home

A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement; the light was all withdrawn; the shining church turned cold and dark; the stream forgot to smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt on everything.

The whole of the day should not be daytime; there should be one hour, if not more, which the day did not bring forth.

Dusk was falling quickly. It was just after 7 P.M., and the month was October.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark.

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.

Outside, daylight was bleeding slowly toward dusk.

It's not dark yet But it's getting there

Suddenly the day was gone, night came out from under each tree and spread.

Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars.

Night wasn't so much falling as sharpening its claws.

Fading light buttered the ridges until shadows licked them clean and they were lost to nightfall.