XXXII ROSES IN THE NIGHT
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
WHEN the night mounts into the sky, the world belongs to us and to the gods. We go over the fields to the spring, the dark wood to the glades, wherever our naked feet lead us.
The little stars shine enough for such little shadows as we are. Sometimes, beneath the branches, we find sleeping hinds.
But more charming than all else, in the night, is a place known only to ourselves which attracts us across the forest: a thicket of mysterious roses.
For nothing in the world is so divine as the perfume of roses in the night. How is it that, in the time when I was alone, I never felt their intoxication?