Hymn to the Night IV

Now I know when will come the last morning: when the light no more scaresaway the Night and Love, when sleep shall be without waking, and but onecontinuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and wearifulwas my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. Thecrystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in thedark bosom of the hillock against whoose foot breaks the flood of theworld, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier ofthe world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of theNight, verily he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into theland where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest.

On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles--tabernacles of peace;there longs and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hoursdraws him down into the waters of the spring. Afloat above remains what isearthly, and is swept back in storms; but what became holy by the touch ofLove, runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where, likeodours, it mingles with love asleep. Still wakest thou, cheerful Light,the weary man to his labour, and into me pourest gladsome life; but thouwilest me not away from Memory’s mossgrown monument. Gladly will I bestirthe deedy hands, everywhere behold where thou hast need of me; bepraisethe rich pomp of thy splendour; pursue unwearied the lovely harmonies ofthy skilled handicraft; gladly contemplate the thoughtful pace of thymighty, radiant clock; explore the balance of the forces and the laws ofthe wondrous play of countless worlds and their seasons; but true to theNight remains my secret heart, and to creative Love, her daughter. Canstthou show me a heart eternally true? Has thy sun friendly eyes that knowme? Do thy stars lay hold of my longing hand? Do they return me the tenderpressure and the caressing word? Was it thou didst bedeck them withcolours and a flickering outline? Or was it she who gave to thy jewels ahigher, a dearer significance? What delight, what pleasure offers thylife, to outweigh the transports of Death? Wears not everything thatinspirits us the livery of the Night? Thy mother, it is she who bringsthee forth, and to her thou owest all thy glory. Thou wouldst vanish intothyself, thou wouldst dissipate in boundless space, if she did not holdthee fast, if she swaddled thee not, so that thou grewest warm, and,flaming, gavest birth to the universe. Verily I was before thou wast; themother sent me with my sisters to inhabit thy world, to sanctify it withlove that it might be an ever present memorial, to plant it with flowersunfading. As yet they have not ripened, these thoughts divine; as yet isthere small trace of our coming apocalypse. One day thy clock will pointto the end of Time, and then thou shalt be as one of us, and shalt, fullof ardent longing, be extinguished and die. I feel in me the close of thyactivity, I taste heavenly freedom, and happy restoration. With wild pangsI recognize thy distance from our home, thy feud with the ancient lordlyHeaven. Thy rage and thy raving are in vain. Inconsumable stands thecross, victory-flag of our race.

Over I pilgrimWhere every painZest only of pleasureShall one day remain.Yet a few momentsThen free am I,And intoxicatedIn Love’s lap lie.Life everlastingLifts, wave-like, at me:I gaze from its summitDown after thee.Oh Sun, thou must vanishYon hillock beneath;A shadow will bring theeThy cooling wreath.Oh draw at my heart, love,Draw till I’m gone;That, fallen asleep, IStill may love on!I feel the flow ofDeath’s youth-giving flood;To balsam and aether, itChanges my blood!I live all the daytimeIn faith and in might:In holy raptureI die every night.