The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The… — John Greenleaf Whittier
The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling.
The Night is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling.
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The Day in its hotness, The strife with the palm; The Night in its silence, The Stars in their calm.
For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
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