THAT NIGHT Do we not fail to accord to our nights their true value?
We are ever giving to our days the credit and blame of all we do and mis-do, forgetting those silent, glimmering hours when plans--and sometimes plots--are laid; when resolutions are formed or changed; when heaven, and sometimes heaven's enemies, are invoked; when anger and evil thoughts are recalled, and sometimes hate made to inflame and fester; when problems are solved, riddles guessed, and things made apparent in the dark, which day refused to reveal.

Our nights are the keys to our days.

They explain them.

They are also the day's correctors.

Night's leisure untangles the mistakes of day's haste.