I was dreaming of you and just for a moment I felt so peaceful and free…

cf. Walter Gay, An Interior (1897) and William Henry Fox Talbot, Nicolaas Henneman Asleep (ca. 1844)

If you love me true
Just like I love you
This ember would turn back to flame…

“Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are!”

cf. Maximilien Luce, The River Sambre in Charleroi (1896) and photograph by Greg Rakozy via Unsplash

But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile…

—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature

She said I love the night
The day is OK and the sun can be fun
But I live to see those rays slip away…

 

Blue Öyster Cult – “I Love The Night”

“What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman”

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon…
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?

—Allen Ginsberg, “A Supermarket in California” (excerpt)

“Hope is the thing with feathers”

cf. newspaper ad illustration and photograph by Florian Klauer (edited)

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

–Emily Dickinson

Late at night when the wind is still
I’ll come flying through your door
And you’ll know what love is for
I’m a bluebird…