XCIII. HYMN TO THE NIGHT
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
THE black masses of the trees are immovable as the mountains. The stars fill the immense sky. A warm breeze like a human breath caresses my eyes and my cheeks.
O Night, who givest birth to the Gods! how sweet thou art upon my lips! how warm thou art in my hair! how thou enterest into me now, and how I feel myself pregnant with all thy springtime!
The flowers that shall blossom shall all be born of me. The wind that respires is my breath. The perfume that passes is my desire. All the stars are in my eyes.
Thy voice, is it the roar of the sea? Is it the silence of the plain? Thy voice; I comprehend it not, but it bends my head to my feet, and my tears lave my two hands.