Let the night weep on your hand; Let the night’s tears, dark and fine, Slip down your fingers; understand That grief is neither yours nor mine. There is a reason for the night. Why weep for dark so luminous That it is only tempered light? Rather the night must weep for us. Reach out your fingers to the cold Blackness of space before tomorrow; Lift up your hand and night will hold And cool it with its lovely sorrow.