When clouds upon the summer breeze all rest
And easeful, take upon their faery flight
Into the paling crimson of the west
Where noonday dreams wilt in the breath of night,
I look into the east, and try to bear
No more a single thought of gloom or tear
For tangled comes my heart in wreathes of drear
For seeing just the day lie on its bier.
Up at the twinkling summer stars I gaze
And far as any falcon, swift, may spy
Lie constellations whose postures can trace
A story of some wild ecstasy;
A tale of unworldly days of yore
When wine flowed free and through the earth did seep
And Heracles stood tall and Phobetor
Was purely myth to scare the young to sleep.
    And as I stare upon these stars, my eyes
    Close then and open to new morning skies.