is a secret joy in the bosom of the night, it is the joy of the veiled sky in its hidden stars, the joy of the midnight forest in its hoarded bird-songs.
Let me fill my heart with it and carry it in secret through the day.
35
When I travelled in the day I felt secure, and I did not heed the wonder of thy road, for I was proud of my speed; thy own light stood between me and thy presence.
Now it is night, and I feel thy road at every step in the dark and the scent of flowers filling the silence—like mother’s whisper to the child when the light is out.
I hold tight thy hand and thy touch is with me in my loneliness.
36
Sailing through the night I came to life’s feast, and the morning’s golden goblet was filled with light for me.
I sang in joy,
I knew not who was the giver.
And I forgot to ask his name.
In the midday the dust grew hot under my feet and the sun overhead.
Overcome by thirst I reached the well.
Water was poured to me.
I drank it.
And while I loved the ruby cup that was sweet as a kiss,
I did not see him who held it and forgot to ask his name.
In the weary evening I seek my way home.
My guide comes with a lamp and beckons me.
I ask his name,
But I only see his light through the silence and feel his smile filling the darkness.
37
Do not leave me and go, for it is night.
The road through the wilderness is lonely and dark and lost in tangles:
The tired earth lies still, like one blind and without a staff.
I seem to have waited for this moment for ages to light my lamp and cull my flowers.
I have reached the brink of the shoreless sea to take my plunge and lose myself for ever.
38
I did not know that I had thy touch before it was dawn.
The news has slowly reached me through my sleep, and I open my eyes with its surprise of tears.
The sky seems full of whispers for me and my limbs are bathed with songs.
My heart bends in worship like a dewladen flower, and I feel the flood of my life rushing to the endless.
39
No guest had come to my house for long, my doors were locked, my windows barred; I thought my night would be lonely.
When I oj)ened my eyes I found the darkness had vanished.
I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates all broken, and through the open door your wind and light waved their banner.
When I was a prisoner in my own house, and the doors were shut, my heart ever planned to escape and to wander.
Now at my broken gate, I sit still and wait for your coming,
You keep me bound by my freedom.
40
Put out the lamps, my heart, the lamps of your lonely night.
The call comes to you to open your doors, for the morning light is abroad.
Leave your lute in the corner, my heart, the lute of your lonely life.
The call comes to you to come out in silence, for the morning sings your own songs.
41
Thy gift of the earliest flower came to me this morning, and came the faint tuning of thy light.
I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy golden dawn,
My wings are radiant with its pollen.
I have found my place in the feast of songs in thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like the morning of its mist in a mere play.
42
Free me as free are the birds of the wilds, the wanderers of unseen paths.
Free me as free are the deluge of rain, and as the storm that shakes its locks and rushes on to its unknown end.
Free me as free is the forest fire, as is the thunder that laughs aloud and hurls defiance to darkness.
43
When you called me I was asleep under the shadows of my walls and I did not hear you.
Then you struck me with your own hands and wakened me in tears.
I started up to see that the sun had risen, that the flood tide had brought the call of the deep, and my boat was ready rocking on the dancing water.
44
Rejoice!
For Night’s fetters have broken, the dreams have vanished.
Thy word has rent its veils, the buds of morning are opened; awake, O sleeper!
Light’s greetings spread from the East to the West,
And at the ramparts of the ruined prison rise the paeans of Victory!
45
In this moment I see you seated upon the morning’s golden carpet.
The sun shines in your crown, the stars drop at your feet, the crowds come and bow to you and go, and the poet sits speechless in the corner.
46
My guest has come to my door in this autumn morning.
Sing, my heart, sing thy welcome!
Make thy song the song of the sunlit blue, of the dew-damp air, of the lavish gold of harvest fields, of the laughter of the loud water.
Or stand mute before him for awhile gazing at his face;
Then leave thy house and go out with him in silence.
47
I lived on the shady side of the road and watched my neighbours’ gardens across the way revelling in the sunshine.
