On a dark night, yearning and on fire with love – oh blessed chance! – I slipped out unnoticed, my house being now at rest.
In darkness and in safety, by the secret stairway in disguise – oh blessed chance! – in darkness, stealthily, my house being now at rest.
On that happy night, in secret, for no one saw me and I looked at nothing, with no other light or guide than the one burning in my heart.
It was that which led me more surely than the light of noon to where he waited for me – for I knew him well – somewhere unvisited by anyone.
O night that guided, O night more delightful than the dawn, O night that united beloved with beloved, she who was his love changed into her love, him.
On my flowering breast, which was kept wholly for him alone, there he lay asleep and I caressed him and the fanning of the cedars gave us air – the breeze from battlements on high – when I stroked his hair, with his quiet hand he gave my neck a wound that made all my senses faint away.
I stayed there and forgot myself, I leant my face upon my beloved, everything stopped, I left myself, all my care had faded among the lilies forgotten.
Poem by John of the Cross (1542-1591), Spanish poet, mystic and reforming Carmelite friar translated by Dinah Livingstone.
Poem by John of the Cross (1542–1591), Spanish poet, mystic and reforming Carmelite friar translated by Dinah Livingstone.