Night is clearly not my sister, Vincent...

I am a shepherd of those sheep

That climb a wall by night

One after one, until I sleep,
Or the black pane goes white.

Because of which I cannot see
A flock upon a hill,

But doubts come tittering up to me,

That should by day be still.
And childish griefs I have outgrown

Into my eyes are thrust,
Till my dull tears go dropping down
Like lead into the dust.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay.