midnights
And old Miss Time , that gray headed old weaver , who is never still , but sets up there in that ancient loom of hern a weavin ' , while her pardner is away mowin ' with that sharp scythe of hisen from mornin ' till night , and from night till mornin ' , jest so stiddy did she keep on weavin ' . Noiseless and calm would the quiet days pass into her old shuttle -LRB- which is jest as good to-day as it wuz at the creation -RRB- . Silent days , quiet days , in a broad stripe , not glistenin ' or shiny , but considerable good-lookin ' after all . Then anon variegated with moon lit starry nights , blue skies , golden sunsets , deep dark , moonless midnights , all shaded off into soft shadders . And then givin ' way to a stripe of hit or miss , restless hours , days when the `` Fire wo n't burn the stick and the kid refuses to go , '' small excitements , frustrated ambitions , etc. . Anon a broad gray stripe , monotony , deadly monotony , and lonesomeness , gray as a rat both on 'em , all loosely twisted together makin ' a wide melancholy stripe . Then a more flowery piece , golden moments , mounts of soul transfiguration , full understandin ' , divine hopes and raptures , heart talks , illuminations , all striped in with images of golden rod , evergreen trees pintin ' up into the friendly blue heavens , that leaned down so clost you could almost see into the Sweet Beyond .