Hymns to the Night :
Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living,
sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light -- with its colors, its rays and undulations,
its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the
unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its
blue flood -- the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the
wild, burning multiform beast inhales it -- but more than all, the lordly stranger with
the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a
king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and
unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly
substance. -- Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the
world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world -- sunk in a
deep grave -- waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep
sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. -- The
distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and
vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the
sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never
return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart, and stills the soft air of
sadness? Dost thou also take a pleasure in us, dark Night? What holdest thou under
thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my soul? Precious balm drips from thy hand
out of its bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy-laden wings of the soul. Darkly
and inexpressibly are we moved -- joy-startled, I see a grave face that, tender and
worshipful, inclines toward me, and, amid manifold entangled locks, reveals the
youthful loveliness of the Mother. How poor and childish a thing seems to me now the
Light -- how joyous and welcome the departure of the day -- because the Night turns
away from thee thy servants, you now strew in the gulfs of space those flashing
globes, to proclaim thy omnipotence -- thy return -- in seasons of thy absence. More
heavenly than those glittering stars we hold the eternal eyes which the Night hath
opened within us. Farther they see than the palest of those countless hosts -- needing
no aid from the light, they penetrate the depths of a loving soul -- that fills a loftier
region with bliss ineffable. Glory to the queen of the world, to the great prophet of the
holier worlds, to the guardian of blissful love -- she sends thee to me -- thou tenderly
beloved -- the gracious sun of the Night, -- now am I awake -- for now am I thine and
mine -- thou hast made me know the Night -- made of me a man -- consume with
spirit-fire my body, that I, turned to finer air, may mingle more closely with thee, and
then our bridal night endure forever.