The Storm Passes

Abstract

I often think of Robert Frost’s Acquainted with the Night when I begin an observing session. My very first was for a partial eclipse of the Sun on October 2, 1959, and by the middle of 1995 I have enjoyed more than 9400. I have indeed walked out in rain, past the furthest city light, to an observatory where I had hoped to obtain a CCD image of the approaching Halley’s comet. I arrived at the observatory and waited for more than an hour while the driving rain echoed so loudly on the dome that I couldn’t hear anything else. But then the sound was muted, the rain stopped, and there seemed to be a small hole in the clouds. Setting the telescope up at Halley’s proper coordinates for that night, I left the dripping observatory dome shut tight. When the clearing reached the comet, I quickly opened the dome, imaged the comet for about two minutes, then shut the dome again. The wait was worth it, for I had surreptitiously captured Halley’s first major outburst of a jet of dust in more than 75 years.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked 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, 1928