midnight
However , not a leaf stirred on the Common ; the foliage hung black and massive , as if cut in bronze ; even the gaslights appeared to be infected by the prevailing calm , burning steadily behind their glass screens and turning the neighboring leaves into the tenderest emerald . Here and there , in the sombre row of houses stretching along Beacon Street , an illuminated window gilded a few square feet of darkness ; and now and then a footfall sounded on a distant pavement . The pulse of the city throbbed languidly . The lights far and near , the fantastic shadows of the elms and maples , the gathering dew , the elusive odor of new grass , and that peculiar hush which belongs only to midnight -- as if Time had paused in his flight and were holding his breath -- gave to the place , so familiar to me by day , an air of indescribable strangeness and remoteness . The vast , deserted park had lost all its wonted outlines ; I walked doubtfully on the flagstones which I had many a time helped to wear smooth ; I seemed to be wandering in some lonely unknown garden across the seas -- in that old garden in Verona where Shakespeare 's ill-starred lovers met and parted . The white granite façade over yonder -- the Somerset Club -- might well have been the house of Capulet : there was the clambering vine reaching up like a pliant silken ladder ; there , near by , was the low-hung balcony , wanting only the slight girlish figure -- immortal shape of fire and dew ! -- to make the illusion perfect .