A STAR COMES SINGING
Peering grayly, as out of prison bars.
The faces ache and haunt me.
King and ditchman, maiden and dreaming seer,
And my face, and your face, among them,—
Gray faces, endlessly peering.
The faces ache and haunt me.
King and ditchman, maiden and dreaming seer,
And my face, and your face, among them,—
Gray faces, endlessly peering.
Why do they look so gray, in the cloud-gray mists?
Do they brood on the journey's end?
Are their hearts ashen, their souls aging,
As time limps on his appointed way?
Do they brood on the journey's end?
Are their hearts ashen, their souls aging,
As time limps on his appointed way?
IV.
Restless Birth
O singing earth, O restless voyager of heavens,
There has been no rest in your turbulent journey.
There has been no rest in your turbulent journey.
After you ceased your flaming tumult,
Your chilled rocks writhed, grinding one another,
Tossing in your shaken sea.
Your chilled rocks writhed, grinding one another,
Tossing in your shaken sea.
Out of this fertile turmoil
They blossomed into blind life,
Driven by wind and tide;
They blossomed into blind life,
Driven by wind and tide;
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