 | Collected poems |  |
152
UNCONSCIOUS
The winds, the stars, and the skies though wroughtBy the heavenly King yet know it not;
And man who moves in the twilight dim
Feels not the love that encircles him,
Though in heart, on bosom, and eyelids press
Lips of an infinite tenderness,
He turns away through the dark to roam
Nor heeds the fire in his hearth and home.
| Collected poems | |