O Night

O Night of lovers, inspirer of poets and singers,

O Night of phantoms, of spirits and fancies,

O Night of longing, of hopes and memories,

You are like a giant dwarfing the evening clouds

and towering over the dawn.

With the sword of fear you are armed, and with

the shining moon you are crowned, and with calm

and silence you are veiled.

With a thousand eyes you penetrate the depth

of life,

With a thousand ears you hear the moan

of death and non-existence.

The light of heaven shines through your darkness,

For Day is but light overwhelming us with the

obscurity of the earth.

Before the awe of eternity you open our eyes and

give us hope,

For Day is a deceiver that blinds us

with measures and quantities.

You are perfect silence revealing the secrets of

the awakened spirits in heaven,

But day is an uproar agitating the souls that

lie between the hooves of purpose and wonder.

You are Justice that brings unto the haven of

slumber the dreams of the weak, that they may be united

with the hopes of the strong.

You are a merciful monarch who closes with his

fingers of enchantment the eyes of the miserable,

and conveys their hearts into a gentler realm.

The lovers’ spirits find refuge between the folds of

your blue garment,

And upon your feet, drenched with dew, the

forlorn shed their tears.

In the palms of your hands, where lies the fragrance

of the valleys, strangers find ease for their

yearnings.

You are the companion of lovers; you console the

desolate; you shelter the alien and the lonely.

In your shadow the poet’s affections rest, and

the hearts of the prophets awaken,

And under your crown the

wisdom of the thinker takes form.

You inspire poets; you bring revelation to the

prophets; you instruct the philosophers.

When my soul wearies of humanity, when my

eyes tire of staring into the face of the day,

I wander where the phantoms

of past ages sleep.

There I pause before a dim presence who strode

with a thousand feet over the earth, setting it

atremble.

There I look into the eyes of shadow, and

listen to the rustle of invisible wings, and feel

the soft touch of the unseen garment of silence,

and withstand the terrors of black darkness.

There I see you, Night, awful and beautiful,

poised between heaven and earth, veiled in

mist, cloaked in cloud, laughing at

the sun, ridiculing the day, taunting the slaves

who sleeplessly worship before the idols.

I see your wrath against kings sleeping upon beds of

velvet and silk;

I see thieves flinching before your vigilant gaze as

you guard the babes in slumber;

I see you weeping over the forced smiles of prostitutes

and smiling over tears of true lovers;

I see your right hand raising up the good and your

feet trampling the wicked.

There, I see you and you see me, Night. And though

terrible, you are like a father to me, and I,

dreaming, envision myself as your son.

The screen of distrust has been removed

from between us, and you reveal to me

your secrets and designs.

And I disclose to you my hopes and my desires.

Your terrors have turned into a melody sweeter and

more soothing to the heart than the whisper of the

flowers.

My fears are vanished and I am more tranquil

than birds.

You have lifted me unto you and held me between

your arms and taught my eyes to see, and my ears

to hear, and my lips to speak, and my heart to

love that which others hate, and to hate that

which others love.

You touch my thoughts with your

gentle fingers, and my contemplation flows like a strong

stream.

With your burning lips you print a kiss

upon the lips of my soul

and set it aflame like a torch.

I have accompanied you, O Night, and followed you

until we became akin.

I loved you until my being became a diminutive image

of your being.

In my dark self are glittering stars strewn

by my emotions.

And in my heart shines a moon lighting the processions

of my dreams.

In my sleepless soul a silence reveals

the lover’s secrets and echoes the

worshipper’s prayers,

And my face wears a magic mask. Torn by

the agony of death, it is mended by the songs of youth.

We are both alike in every way, Night.

Will man consider me boastful if I liken myself

unto you?

Does not man boast of his resemblance to the day?

I am like you, Night, and we are both accused of

being what we are not.

I am like you even though twilight does not crown me

with its golden clouds.

I am like you although morn does not adorn the

hem of my garment with its rosy rays.

I am like you though I am not encircled by the milky

way.

I am night boundless and calm; there is no beginning

to my obscurity and no end to my depth.

When the souls rise in the

light of their joy, my soul ascends glorified by the

dark of grief.

I am like you, Night! And when my morn comes, then

my time will end.