Black as the pupil drinking the light
J. Plant
Black as the pupil drinking the light
I love you, keen-eyed night!
Grant me a voice to sing your praise
O primal mother of songs!
The bridle of the four winds
lies in the palm of your hand.
Calling you, declaring your glory,
I am only a seashell
whose ocean has not yet died.
Night! Too long have I gazed on human eyes!
Set me on fire, black sun, night!