Come, thou whose circle is endless flight
She whose body from celestial stars is made,
Upon whose breast our souls are laid
Mystery, black as midnight's heaven far,
Yet brilliant as the silver star.
Thy realm is the void of primordial skies,
Light and life in thy hand lies.
Dreams and soft ease attend thy train
Lead drifting sleep to Orpic strain.
Nikta, decked with starry light
Rests deep silence, in dwelling ebony night.
Goddess of phantoms, of shadow plays
Whose body divides the sun lit days.
She from whom all Gods and man were born
She we seek when the veil is torn...
Be present Goddess with mysteries abound
Let the dark's wisdom by mortals be found!