With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face!
The owl flies, in the moonlight, over a field where the wounded cry out. Like the owl, I fly in the night over my own misfortune.
Sometimes, at night you could hear the whole damn city crying.
The best time to cry is at night, when the lights are out and someone is being beaten up and screaming for help.
Somewhere in him, a shadow turned mournfully over. You had to run with a night like this so the sadness could not hurt
At midnight tears Run into your ears.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours.
Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe, After night I do crowd, And with night will go; I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increased; For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain.
