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I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have out walked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

~Robert Frost, "Acquainted with the Night"

Those who cherish the darkness tht protects them also learn to hate it for the Truths it conceals. The mystery of the night is such that we all an become what we wish we were. For some, that means hiding what they are, for others, revealing all. Welcome to the wonder of the darkness...

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-In-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

Am I damned? Am I from the devil? Is my very nature that of a devil? I was asking myself over and over. And if it is, then why do I revolt against it, tremble when Babette hurls a flaming latern at me, turn away in disgust when Lestat kills? What have I become in becoming a vampire? Where am I to go? And all the while, as the death wish caused me to neglect my thirst, my thirst grew hotter; my veins were veritable threads of pain in my flesh; my temples throbbed; and finally I could stand it no longer. Torn apart by the wish to take no action - to starve, to wither in thought on the one hand; and driven to kill on the other - I stood in an empty, desolate street and heard the sound of a child crying.

~Anne Rice, "Interview with the Vampire"

A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

~William Wordsworth, "Lucy"

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