Speak, O seeker; stars of grace
silently adorn the face
night emboldens with delight:
Can a spirit hate the night,
burning as it is with flame
ever changing yet the same,
joyful, splendid, diamond-bright?
Mind must love its kin the night.
Never cease to seek the route
milky-white, and do not doubt--
speak your stories to the night,
walk upon her road of light.