I turn away from the light to the holy, inexpressible,  mysterious night. Far away lies the world − sunk into a  deep vault, its place waste and lonely. Across my h eart  strings a low melancholy plays. I will fall in drop s of dew  and merge with the ashes. Distant memories, the wishes  of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys a nd vain  hopes  of  a  long  life – all  arise  dressed  in  grey, l ike  evening  mist  after  sunset.



Hymns to the Nigh, 1800