Hymn to the Night III

Once when I was shedding bitter tears, when, dissolved in pain, my hope was melting away, and I stood alone by the barren mound which in its narrow dark bosom hid the vanished form of my life - lonely as never yet was lonely man, driven by anxiety unspeakable - powerless, and no longer anything but a conscious misery. - As there I looked about me for help, unable to go on or to turn back, and clung to the fleeting, extinguished life with an endless longing: - then, out of the blue distances - from the hills of my ancient bliss, came a shiver of twilight - and at once snapt the bond of birth - the chains of the Light. Away fled the glory of the world, and with it my mourning - the sadness flowed together into a new, unfathomable world - Thou, Night-inspiration, heavenly Slumber, didst come upon me - the region gently upheaved itself; over it hovered my unbound, newborn spirit. The mound became a cloud of dust - and through the cloud I saw the glorified face of my beloved. In her eyes eternity reposed - I laid hold of her hands, and the tears became a sparkling bond that could not be broken. Into the distance swept by, like a tempest, thousands of years. On her neck I welcomed the new life with ecstatic tears. It was the first, the only dream - and just since then I have held fast an eternal, unchangeable faith in the heaven of the Night, and its Light, the Beloved.

Novalis (1772 - 1801)

Hymn to the Night II

Must the morning always return? Will the despotism of the earthly never cease? Unholy activity consumes the angel-visit of the Night. Will the time never come when Love's hidden sacrifice shall burn eternally? To the Light a season was set; but everlasting and boundless is the dominion of the Night. - Endless is the duration of sleep. Holy Sleep - gladden not too seldom in this earthly day-labour, the devoted servant of the Night. Fools alone mistake thee, knowing nought of sleep but the shadow which, in the twilight of the real Night, thou pitifully castest over us. They feel thee not in the golden flood of the grapes - in the magic oil of the almond tree - and the brown juice of the poppy. They know not that it is thou who hauntest the bosom of the tender maiden, and makest a heaven of her lap - never suspect it is thou, opening the doors to Heaven, that steppest to meet them out of ancient stories, bearing the key to the dwellings of the blessed, silent messenger of secrets infinite.

Novalis (1772 - 1801)

Hymn to the Night I

Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light - with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its blue flood - the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it - but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. - Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.

Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world - sunk in a deep grave - waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. - The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?


What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart, and stills the soft air of sadness? Dost thou also take a pleasure in us, dark Night? What holdest thou under thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my soul? Precious balm drips from thy hand out of its bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy-laden wings of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly are we moved - joy-startled, I see a grave face that, tender and worshipful, inclines toward me, and, amid manifold entangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness of the Mother. How poor and childish a thing seems to me now the Light - how joyous and welcome the departure of the day - because the Night turns away from thee thy servants, you now strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to proclaim thy omnipotence - thy return - in seasons of thy absence. More heavenly than those glittering stars we hold the eternal eyes which the Night hath opened within us. Farther they see than the palest of those countless hosts - needing no aid from the light, they penetrate the depths of a loving soul - that fills a loftier region with bliss ineffable. Glory to the queen of the world, to the great prophet of the holier worlds, to the guardian of blissful love - she sends thee to me - thou tenderly beloved - the gracious sun of the Night, - now am I awake - for now am I thine and mine - thou hast made me know the Night - made of me a man - consume with spirit-fire my body, that I, turned to finer air, may mingle more closely with thee, and then our bridal night endure forever.

Novalis (1772 - 1801)

Impression du printemps II

Voilà - and some flowers from Seanhenge.

Lilies

Rose

Bleeding Hearts

Don't-know-flower :)

Pansy

Stonecrops, primrose

Cornflower

Tulip

Aquilegia

Bet you know ... :)

Impression du printemps I

It lasted only 17 days in April; but for you - and me - I saved a bit of the white brightness into May.

Cherry

Apple

Dansom

Strawberries (still blooming)

Saw a window

Harmoniously I loved, my embrace a wanton song under the tangled banks of the wood where my girl slept. How good it was seeing her beauty through the leaves, framed in the shape of love by the oaks as in a mighty aerial window!

I asked a kiss from her through the narrow oak window, and she refused me, did me wrong, my gentle jewel; did not want me. The window, which old and worn faces the bright rays of the sun, obstructed me . . . may I never age like that same window ! A strange vitality mounted huge within me, like that enormous love which once drove Melwas to seize your daughter Cogyfran Gawr, coming from Caerlleon, fearing nothing in his passion. But I, it was scarcely likely I should take my love through a window, seeing I had never seized her in Melwas' manner, and favours are not got by the colour of the pining check . . . O let me be with my lovely jewel face to face at midnight!

Without hope of her, without the light of a star, with no hope of taking her between the joists of the window, my anger rises, rages at the white walls Standing on every side like a boundary stone between me and her. Our noses cannot touch, nor can our lips come together through the lattice, but kiss the Wood . . . O false perplexing torment, trying embraces through a narrow window!


No one has been tormented, set sleep-less between the night and a lattice window as I am sleeplessly tormented: may the devil break this windowed dungeon, and take a crowbar to its pillars! Sharp anger spins through me, shut weeping salt tears outside, weeping at these strong, obstructing, hindering window-frames, which kill my song and keep me from her.

But my hand took up a saw, and soon cut away what kept me sleepless and kept me from the place where my love was.