The Poet
Beneath the faint far sky at night
When a cold harvesting of stars
The moon reaps and the dim moonlight
Pours down 'twixt cloudy prison bars
He moved as one whom no grief mars.
When a cold harvesting of stars
The moon reaps and the dim moonlight
Pours down 'twixt cloudy prison bars
He moved as one whom no grief mars.
And with wide rapture lost all sense
Of self within the night's cool breath,
Grew portion of all things immense,
Tides infinite of life and death,
And those great words the ocean saith.
Of self within the night's cool breath,
Grew portion of all things immense,
Tides infinite of life and death,
And those great words the ocean saith.
Or with the shadows of a wood,
Or some deserted, treeless plain,
Mingled the throbbings of his blood,
Loosing all human thought and pain,
And things that grow and things that wane—
Or some deserted, treeless plain,
Mingled the throbbings of his blood,
Loosing all human thought and pain,
And things that grow and things that wane—
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