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 NIGHT deepens and the dying flame flickers in the lamp. I forgot to notice when the evening-like a village girl who has filled her pitcher at the river a last time for that day-closed the door on her cabin. I was speaking to you, my love, with mind barely conscious of my voice-tell me, had it any meaning? Did it bring you any message from beyond life's borders? For now, since my voice has ceased, I feel the night throbbing with thoughts that gaze in awe at the abyss of their dumbness.
NOT FOR ME is the love that knows no restraint, but like the foaming wine that having burst its vessel in a moment would run to waste. Send me the love which is cool and pure like your rain that blesses the thirsty earth and fills the homely earthen jars. Send me the love that would soak down into the centre of being, and from there would spread like the unseen sap through the branching tree of life, giving birth to fruits and flowers. Send me the love that keeps the heart still with the fulness of peace.
