Night is the depth of stars, song of vampires
passing stealthy; night is the garb of ghosts
and hounds, and hunts, and hordes of ghouls; it's fires
leading astray travellers, it's vain boasts
of brave hearts: night is my time. It is when
mists and wisps of thought are fearful, when shades
lathe the world and weave their magic. It's hounds
of darkness, cats black and brilliant with green-
limned sight of the night; it's beasts in the glades,
wights that emerge, cold and chill, from their mounds—
night is fearful, night is dread. It inspires
nightmares frightful, nearing death. And each star,
each moonless evening, whether cloud or mire
induced, is proof—night is my time, and far
or near though fear is dwelling, the truth lies:
all to night succumb, the day will die
like suns. Come, night, in your darkness, resound
with shadows, mists and fogs, come and be queen
over me. Rule my heart, extend your reign
with heard emissaries, amorphous sounds;
O night eternal, soon your rule will spire
as stars die their deaths now there, and now here—
come, oh beloved death, make my desire
truly the fate of all. Listen, may fear
seek you alone to please; may then this ode
seek you alone to please, night, who are god
above God to me. Gather close around,
take me, your slave, take me and break, I pray
nevermore rules the dreaded light of day,
evermore rules your heart, knowing no bounds.