Night, my somber mistress, upon thy face my tears shine as stars and make thee more beautiful.
Night, thou art infinity revealed. I will stir thy ancient fires on thy cold lips until thou willst thunder to me with thy hidden voices out of thy vast silence.
Night, I open my heart to hear but I hear only my heart crying out. Speak.
Beautiful one, I sing to thee for bringing me the madness of silence. I sing to thee, for thou art mine; for thou art fierce and pregnant with still wounds.
Night. Behold! I know thee. I have seen the black flames of thy spirit that burn in the depths of thee. I have heard the murmuring music of thy tears.
Thou art glorious. Come. Come, thou and I shall make of our sorrow rejoicing. Come, place thy long, cool fingers in mine and lead me beyond.
Night! Night! Thy face is paling. Thou art stricken. Thou art treading silently away without me.
Night—thou hast taken from me the pain of thy kisses. There hath come into thy deep eyes a weariness. Thou art dying. Thou art dying from my arms. The red glow of death burneth in thy face and is transforming thee.
Night, where shall I find thee again? Where shall I seek thee?
The dreadful day that is thy white shadow hath come. And a part of me hath died.