Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what
living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light, with its colours,
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 azure flood; the
sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the
wild, burning, multiform beast-world inhales it; but more than all, the
lordly stranger with the meaning 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 marvellous splendour 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 vapour 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, dusky 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 pinions of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly
are we moved: joy-startled, I see a grave countenance 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!--Didst thou not only therefore, because the Night turns away from
thee thy servants, strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to
proclaim, in seasons of thy absence, thy omnipotence, and thy return?
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 prophetess of holier worlds, to
the foster-mother 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, and brought her to me to be my
life; thou hast made of me a man. Consume my body with the ardour of my
soul, that I, turned to finer air, may mingle more closely with thee, and
then our bridal night endure for ever.