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Hymns to the Night

(excerpt)

1
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?