MAKE ME THY poet, 0 Night, veiled Night! There are some who have sat speechless for ages in thy shadow; let me utter their songs. Take me up on thy chariot without wheels, running noiselessly from world to world, thou queen in the palace of time, thou darkly beautiful! Many a questioning mind has stealthily entered thy courtyard and roamed through thy lampless house seeking for answers. From many a heart, pierced with the arrow of joy from the hands of the Unknown, have burst forth glad chants, shaking the darkness to its foundation. Those wakeful souls gaze in the starlight in wonder at the treasure they have suddenly found. ' Make me their poet, 0 Night, the poet of thy fathomless silence.
THE DAY is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher. The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it calls me out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is no passer by, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river. I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute.
