The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.

Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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Is there not
A tongue in every star that talks with man,
And wooes him to be wise? nor wooes in vain;
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.

Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Stichwörter: night-sky

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‎When one by one our ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn;
When man is left alone to mourn,
Oh! then how sweet it is to die!

Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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