The night was suddenly sweet, a time to cherish. I would wish for it never to end.
Dusk would creep into the neighborhood like a gentle dust that took the sharp edges away.
Let me hear nothing of the moon, in my night there is no moon, and if it happens that I speak of the stars it is by mistake.
The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.
The night is not a tumultuous black ocean in which you sink or sail as a star. As a matter of fact it was a wet November night.
Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
The evening rested here, bronzed and quietly breathing, basking like an exhausted acrobat in the afterglow of marvellous exploits of light and weather.