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I.
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 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, stew 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.
(p. 9-10)
Note to this Edition
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II.
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