 | Wild honey from various thyme |  |
95
LOOKING UP TO THE STARS
Not as the sun that presently must drop,And in damp night no comfort for the eye;
Not as the moon that climbeth by and by,
Too late for my sad eve: as the full crop
Of stars that, clear or trembling, without stop
Amass in myriad feature on the sky,
Is manifest the love that as I die
Fills all my heaven to the archèd top.
What feats of gods are there in permanence,
Conflicts and reconciliations there,
As in a crystal, moving to the sense!
Glad am I, through these draughts of quiet air,
To breathe such visitings, and, in pale stream,
The crossing and recrossing of a dream.
| Wild honey from various thyme | |