 | Clarel |  |
But Ungar, islanded in thought
Which not from place a prompting caught,
Alone, upon the terrace stair
Lingered, in adoration there
Of Eastern skies: “Now night enthrones
Arcturns and his shining sons;
And lo, Job's chambers of the South:
How might his hand not go to mouth
In kiss adoring ye, bright zones?
Look up: the age, the age forget—
There's something to look up to yet!”
Which not from place a prompting caught,
Alone, upon the terrace stair
Lingered, in adoration there
Of Eastern skies: “Now night enthrones
Arcturns and his shining sons;
And lo, Job's chambers of the South:
How might his hand not go to mouth
469
Look up: the age, the age forget—
There's something to look up to yet!”
| Clarel | |