When night spreads out her mighty wings above the earth and all is wrapped in shadow, the Soul, to hide its mortal husk, escapes from it and returns where it is wont.
Thus naked, invisible, immortal, straightway it turns to its yearned-for resting-place; there at once attacks its lovely foe whose limbs are sunk in gentle sleep.
And while it waits and gazes little by little down from her golden head to her ivory feet, it trembles with the wonder and the sweetness.
Then it returns, opens my eyes and says to them: " O day-servants of mine, how small a part you show me of so many and so great beauties! "