Midnight
The air is dark and fragrant
With memories of a shower,
And sanctified with stillness
By this most holy hour.
The leaves forget to whisper
Of soft and secret things,
And every bird is silent,
With folded eyes and wings.
O blessed hour of midnight,
Of sleep and of release,
Thou yieldest to the toiler
The wages of thy peace.
And I, who have not laboured,
Nor borne the heat of noon,
Receive thy tranquil quiet -
An undeserved boon.
Yes, truly God is gracious,
Who makes His sun to shine
Upon the good and evil,
And idle lives like mine.
Upon the just and unjust
He sends His rain to fall,
And gives this hour of blessing
Freely alike to all.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Related quotes
In The Midnight Hour
(s. cropper, w. pickett)
Producer: john hudson
Albums: tina live in europe (88)
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love comes tumbling down
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
When there is no one else around
Im gonna take and Im gonna hold
Do all the things Ive told
In the midnight hour, in the midnight hour
Im gonna wait till the stars come out
To see the twinkle in your eyes
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love begins to shine
Youre the only one I know
That really loves me so
In the midnight hour, in the midnight hour
Midnight midnight midnight tonight
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Legend
THERE is an hour, they say,
On which your dream has power:
Then all you wish for comes,
As comes the lost field-bird
Down to the island-lights;
There is an hour, they say,
That's woven with your wish:
In dawn, or dayli’ gone,
In mirk-dark, or at noon,
In hush or hum of day,
May be that secret hour.
A herd-boy in the rain
Who looked o'er stony fields;
A young man in a street,
When fife and drum went by,
Making the sunlight shrill;
A girl in a lane,
When the long June twilight
Made friendly far-off things,
Had watch upon the hour:
The dooms they met are in
The song my grand-dam sings.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Early Works - The Twilight Hour
When twilight is here
you shall see
but not hear a sound
the world will be peaceful
the seas will be calm
the flowers will sway gracefully
in the breeze as night does come.
The twilight hour
is the hour before darkness does prevail
when little children into dreamland sail
when the sunset leaves the sky grey and blue
then the twilight hour comes into view.
The big city sounds die peacefully
when twilight calls gracefully
as small creatures rest their heads in sleep
as all the world in tranquil stillness does seep
for the twilight hour is tranquil
as it gracefully does call.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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In The Midnight Hour
Gonna wait till the midnight hour
When there's no one else around
Gonna wait till the midnight hour
When my love comes tumbling down
I'm gonna take you girl, and hold you
And do all the things I told you
In the midnight hour
Yes I will, yes I will
Well, gonna wait until the stars come out
And my love begins to shine
Gonna wait till the midnight hour
Then I'm gonna make you mine
You're the only girl I know
Who really really loves me so
In the midnight hour
Yes you are, yes you are
I'm gonna wait, wait, wait till the midnight hour
I'm gonna wait, wait, wait till the midnight hour
I'm gonna wait, wait, wait till the midnight hour
I'm gonna wait, wait, wait till the midnight hour
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evening Prayer at a Girl's School
HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room
Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds
A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom
And the sweet stillness, down on fair young heads,
With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care,
And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night, in prayer.
Gaze on-'tis lovely!-Childhood's lip and cheek,
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought-
Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?-
Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,
What death must fashion for eternity!
O! joyous creatures! that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,
As birds, with slumber's honey-dew opprest,
'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun-
Life up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies
Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes.
Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled springs
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread,
And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;
Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness-how soon her woe!
Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,
And sumless riches, from affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds-a wasted shower!
And to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship-therefore pray!
Her lot is on you-to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain;
Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,
And oh! to love through all things-therefore pray!
And take the thought of this calm vesper time,
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,
On through the dark days fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight!
Earth will forsake-O! happy to have given
The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Hour Of Gold
(Emmylou Harris)
I have seen your soul turn black
And then retreat
To that dark place where no one else may follow
I waited here for your returning
To roll your cigarette
And wash your bloodied feet
You have heard the silent running
Of my dreams
Broke me from the grip of grief and fever
With the sound of your voice speaking my name
And a kiss
That I will feel forever
In the hour of gold, the hour of lead
WG did forge our wedding bed
On a hard and holy road
We lay down our head
In tha hour of gold, the hour oi lead
I have watched you riding on
The wall of death
And when il finally breaks you and you fall
I will tear this dress of muslin that you gave me
To bind the fatal wound
And catch your last sweet breath
In the hour of gold, the hour of lead
We did forge our wedding bed
On a hard and holy road
We lay down our head
In the hour of gold, the hour of lead
But the world will be my witness when
They excavate my heart
And find the image of your face
Imprinted there like some Shroud of Turin
That neither time Nor tundra could erase
In the hour of gold, the hour of lead
We did forge our wedding bed
On a hard and holy road
We lay down our head
In the hour of gold, the hour of lead
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midnight Hour
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love comes tumbling down
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Im gonna take you girl and hold you
Do all things I told you in the midnight hour
Im gonna hold you in my arms and see the twinkle in your eyes
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love begins to shine
Youre the only girl I know
Really love you so in the midnight hour
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stanzas
If thou be in a lonely place,
If one hour's calm be thine,
As Evening bends her placid face
O'er this sweet day's decline;
If all the earth and all the heaven
Now look serene to thee,
As o'er them shuts the summer even,
One moment--think of me!
Pause, in the lane, returning home;
'Tis dusk, it will be still:
Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom
Its breezeless boughs will fill.
Look at that soft and golden light,
High in the unclouded sky;
Watch the last bird's belated flight,
As it flits silent by.
Hark! for a sound upon the wind,
A step, a voice, a sigh;
If all be still, then yield thy mind,
Unchecked, to memory.
If thy love were like mine, how blest
That twilight hour would seem,
When, back from the regretted Past,
Returned our early dream!
If thy love were like mine, how wild
Thy longings, even to pain,
For sunset soft, and moonlight mild,
To bring that hour again!
But oft, when in thine arms I lay,
I've seen thy dark eyes shine,
And deeply felt their changeful ray
Spoke other love than mine.
My love is almost anguish now,
It beats so strong and true;
'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou
Such anguish ever knew.
I have been but thy transient flower,
Thou wert my god divine;
Till checked by death's congealing power,
This heart must throb for thine.
And well my dying hour were blest,
If life's expiring breath
Should pass, as thy lips gently prest
My forehead cold in death;
And sound my sleep would be, and sweet,
Beneath the churchyard tree,
If sometimes in thy heart should beat
One pulse, still true to me.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When The Blue Hour Comes
Orbison/ crowell
The good times are all gone
The night keeps coming on so strong
You cant hold on, no matter what you do
Will there be someone who cares for you
When the blue hour comes?
When the blue hour comes?
And when your restless heart
Tears your world apart
And everywhere you turn
Its falling down on you
Will there be a light that shines for you?
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
Good times dont last forever
Sometimes its now or never
Darling, reach out for me
You know where Ill be
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
I will always be there
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes....(repeat to fade)
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faute De Mieux
WHEN the corn is green and the poppies red
And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,
When the elms are black deep overhead
And the shade lies cool where the calves are feeding,
When the blackbird whistles the song of June,
When kine knee-deep in the pond are drowsing,
Leave pastoral peace--come up through the noon
To the high chalk downs where the sheep are browsing.
Oh! sweet to dream in the noontide heat,
On the scented bed of thyme and clover,
With the air from the sea, blown keen and sweet,
And the wings of the wide sky folded over,
While, far in the blue, the skylark sings,
Renounce desire and renounce endeavour,
Forget life's little unworthy things
And dream that the dream will last for ever.
The love of your life, in your heart's hid shrine,
With its gifts and its torments, leave it sighing,
And I will bury the pain of mine
In the selfsame grave where its joy is lying.
Let me hold your hand for a quiet hour
In the wild thyme's scent and the clear blue weather,
Then come what may, we have plucked one flower,
This hour on the downs alone together.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Ghost
Peace in thy hands,
Peace in thine eyes,
Peace on thy brow;
Flower of a moment in the eternal hour,
Peace with me now.
Not a wave breaks,
Not a bird calls,
My heart, like a sea,
Silent after a storm that hath died,
Sleeps within me.
All the night's dews,
All the world's leaves,
All winter's snow
Seem with their quiet to have stilled in life's dream
All sorrowing now.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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A Song for New Year's Eve
Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay—
Stay till the good old year,
So long companion of our way,
Shakes hands, and leaves us here.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One little hour, and then away.
The year, whose hopes were high and strong,
Has now no hopes to wake;
Yet one hour more of jest and song
For his familiar sake.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One mirthful hour, and then away.
The kindly year, his liberal hands
Have lavished all his store.
And shall we turn from where he stands,
Because he gives no more?
Oh stay, oh stay,
One grateful hour, and then away.
Days brightly came and calmly went,
While yet he was our guest;
How cheerfully the week was spent!
How sweet the seventh day's rest!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One golden hour, and then away.
Dear friends were with us, some who sleep
Beneath the coffin-lid:
What pleasant memories we keep
Of all they said and did!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One tender hour, and then away.
Even while we sing, he smiles his last,
And leaves our sphere behind.
The good old year is with the past;
Oh be the new as kind!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One parting strain, and then away.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Halloween
This is the hour when the poet grieves,
Picking his way through the rain-sodden leaves,
Betrayed by a promise he no longer believes
As he throws in his lot with murderers and thieves.
This is the hour when the mother cries,
When the baby whimpers and the wild wind sighs,
When lights go out and your happiness dies
As lovers all whisper their final goodbyes.
This is the hour you will want to forget,
When your body trembles with the skeleton's threat,
When your mouth turns dry though your tears are wet,
And the Grim Reaper comes to settle your debt.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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In The Midnight Hour
(cropper,pickett)
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love comes tumbling down
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
When theres no one else around
Im gonna take you girl and hold you
And do all the things i told you
In the midnight hour
Im gonna wait till the stars come out
And see that twinkle in your eye
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love begins to shine
Im gonna take you girl and hold you
And do all things i told you
In the midnight hour
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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St. Ame
A SUNNY glade below the bridge;
Clear shadows branching through a stream;
A hillock purple to the ridge
With velvet thyme; and the far gleam
Of white clouds in a dream,
Floating above the dusky lines
Of silent mountains black with pines.
An idle hour to lose away,
To question not, nor muse, nor know:
The ripples ripple where they may
From brown into the amber glow;
The moments drift and go.
And what is life, and toil, and fret?
We only breathe, and we forget.
So in their summer fields might rest
Disprisoned shades that henceforth share
The careless strength of souls possessed
By but the moment that is there,
The strength which children wear;
Might so be stilled from thought or speech,
Passed into calm beyond their reach.
And lo, the dragon-fly's locked wings
Upon the leaf my breath could stir;
And on my sleeve undoubting springs
A merry-minded grasshopper;
And, see, behind that fir,
A rat across our brook has come,
And rustles past us to his home.
And the sweet air is hushed with sound
More tranceful than low lullabies,
The plashings of the waters drowned
In babble of small insect cries
And surge of leafy sighs.
We hear, not heed: enough for us
Resting to feel that rest is thus.
Not now. Oh vacant hour long past,
Wherefore to-day live back in thee?
Ill hour that grew no growth to last,
Flower without seed, unfruitful tree,
Hast thou still right to be?
Fade out forgotten, ghost of nought,
What worth or wisdom hast thou brought?
Nay, seedless, fruitless hour, not so;
Fade not, but hide from sterner looks.
We have a secret we two know,
The secret of the woods, the brooks,
Of wild flowers in their nooks,
Of all glad growing things' delight
That live and never long for night:
A secret hidden from thought and will,
And only given to those who cease
From toil and pondering and are still,
The secret of that soulless peace,
The soul's joy and release,
To sit and see the sun and smile
Only because we live the while.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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An Evening
TO break the stillness of the hour
There is no sound, no voice, no stir;
Only the croak of frogs,—the whirr
Of crickets hidden in leaf and flower.
The clear-cut outlines of a spire
Spring from a mass of eucalypt
Sharply against the sky,—still tipped
With one last gleam of lingering fire.
So solemnly the shadows creep;
On dovelike wings Night flutters down;
Lights twinkle in the little town;
The valley lies in quiet sleep.
So comes the dark, so fades the light,
On all those leagues of tossing sea
That lie between my home and me,
And glimmer to the stars all night.
And so, belovèd, silently
In thine own land the shadows fall
On grassy lawn, and garden-wall,
On shining sand, and troubled sea,—
On paths thy feet shall never tread,—
On fields thine eyes shall never see,—
And on thy new home, strange to me,
That silent City of the Dead!
Yea, stillness rests, O Tried and True,
On hand and heart, on lips and eyes!
On thee eternal silence lies,
On thee is utter darkness too.
We lost too much in losing thee,
Yet we who knew and loved thee best,
Wish thee an everlasting rest,
Night came on thee so quietly.
Peace with the Shadows! Peace to all
Who work and weep, who pray and wait;
Till we and thou are one with Fate,
And on us too, the Night shall fall!
poem by Dora Wilcox
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Sonnet XXV: Winged Hours
Each hour until we meet is as a bird
That wings from far his gradual way along
The rustling covert of my soul,—his song
Still loudlier trilled through leaves more deeply stirr'd:
But at the hour of meeting, a clear word
Is every note he sings, in Love's own tongue;
Yet, Love, thou know'st the sweet strain suffers wrong
Full oft through our contending joys unheard.
What of that hour at last, when for her sake
No wing may fly to me nor song may flow;
When, wandering round my life unleaved, I know
The bloodied feathers scattered in the brake,
And think how she, far from me, with like eyes
Sees through the untuneful bough the wingless skies?
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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In the Midnight Hour
When we meet
in the midnight hour
country girl
I will bring you night flowers
coloured like your eyes
in the moonlight
in the midnight
hour
I remember
Your cold hand
held for a moment among strangers
held for a moment among dripping trees
in the midnight hour
I remember
Your eyes coloured like the autumn landscape
walking down muddy lanes
watching sheep eating yellow roses
walking in city squares in winter rain
kissing in darkened hallways
walking in empty suburban streets
saying goodnight in deserted alleyways
in the midnight hour
Andy Williams singing `We'll keep a Welcome in the
Hillsides' for us
When I meet you at the station
The Beatles singing `We Can Work it Out' with James
Ensor at the harmonium
Rita Hayworth in a nightclub singing `Arcade Mia'
I will send you armadas
of love vast argosies of flowers
in the midnight hour
country girl
when we meet
in the moonlight
midnight
hour
country girl
I will bring you
yellow
white
eyes
bright
moon
light
mid
night
flowers
in the midnight hour.
poem by Adrian Henri
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Winter Stores
We take from life one little share,
And say that this shall be
A space, redeemed from toil and care,
From tears and sadness free.
And, haply, Death unstrings his bow
And Sorrow stands apart,
And, for a little while, we know
The sunshine of the heart.
Existence seems a summer eve,
Warm, soft, and full of peace;
Our free, unfettered feelings give
The soul its full release.
A moment, then, it takes the power,
To call up thoughts that throw
Around that charmed and hallowed hour,
This life's divinest glow.
But Time, though viewlessly it flies,
And slowly, will not stay;
Alike, through clear and clouded skies,
It cleaves its silent way.
Alike the bitter cup of grief,
Alike the draught of bliss,
Its progress leaves but moment brief
For baffled lips to kiss.
The sparkling draught is dried away,
The hour of rest is gone,
And urgent voices, round us, say,
' Ho, lingerer, hasten on !'
And has the soul, then, only gained,
From this brief time of ease,
A moment's rest, when overstrained,
One hurried glimpse of peace ?
No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us,
And flowers bloomed round our feet,
While many a bud of joy before us
Unclosed its petals sweet,
An unseen work within was plying;
Like honey-seeking bee,
From flower to flower, unwearied, flying,
Laboured one faculty,
Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow,
Its gloom and scarcity;
Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,
Toiled quiet Memory.
'Tis she that from each transient pleasure
Extracts a lasting good;
'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure
To serve for winter's food.
And when Youth's summer day is vanished,
And Age brings Winter's stress,
Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished,
Life's evening hours will bless.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sun-Dial, In The Churchyard Of Bremhill
So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,
Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day,
The pleasing pictures of the present fade,
And like a summer vapour steal away!
And have not they, who here forgotten lie
(Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!)
Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye,
Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast!
Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept,
Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath;
The pastor and his flock alike have slept,
And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death.
Another race succeeds, and counts the hour,
Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile,
As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power;
So smiling and so perishing the while.
I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound,
When to these scenes a stranger I drew near,
Proclaim the tidings to the village round,
While memory wept upon the good man's bier.
Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells
Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone;
While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells,
And strangers gaze upon my humble stone!
Enough, if we may wait in calm content,
The hour that bears us to the silent sod;
Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent,
And leave the issue to thy will, O God!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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