La Fuente

How well I know the fountain that streams and flows,
Though it is night!

There the eternal fountain is hidden,
How well I know where she has her dwelling,
Though it is night!

I don’t know her origin, for she has none—
I know rather that every origin comes from her,
Though it is night.

I know that there could be nothing so beautiful,
And that the heavens and earth drink from her,
Though it is night.

I know well that she has no ground,
And that no one can ford her,
Though it is night.

Her clarity is never darkened,
And I know that all light comes from her,
Though it is night.

I know how copious are her streams,
That she waters heaven, hell, and earth,
Though it is night.

The stream that is born of this fountain,
Well I know that it is equally large and powerful,
Though it is night.

The stream that from these two proceeds,
I know was preceded by neither,
Though it is night.

This eternal fountain is hidden
In this living bread which gives us life,
Though it is night.

Here she is calling to all creatures,
And by this water are they satisfied, though in darkness,
For it is night.

This living fountain which I desire,
I see in this bread of life, though it is night.

St. John of the Cross
tr. Laura Grimes