The Lady in black velvet is the night,

The deep, uncanny, weird, mysterious night,

The witching, troubling, awe-inspiring night,

Serene and silent, sweet and subtle night,

Tempestuous, tragic, black and feverish night.

The Lady in black velvet is the night,

Her robe of black as black as blackest night,

Enfolds a world—a world of sleepless night,

A world of sighs, of cravings and of crimes,

Of maddening joys, of languors that consume,

Of pains unbearable, of livid fears,

Of nightmares and of dreams.

Then there’s the sombre gray of shifting clouds

Whose masses rent asunder now reveal

The radiant luminary of the night,

Her silv’ry, radiant face is Queen of night.

The Lady in black velvet is the night.