EVEN-STAR
First-born and final relic of the night,
I dwell aloof in dim immensity;
The grey sky sparkles with my fairy light;
I mix among the dancers of the sea;
Yet stoop not from the throne I must retain
High o'er the silver sources of the rain.
Vicissitude I know not, nor can know,
Yet much discern strewed everywhere around;
The ever-stirring race of men below
Much do I watch, and wish I were not bound
The chainless captive of this lonely spot,
Where light-winged Mutability is not.
I see great cities rise, which being hoar
Are slowly rendered unto dust again;
And roaring billows preying on the shore;
And virgin isles ascending from the main;
The passing wave of the perpetual river;
And men depart, and man remaining ever.
The upturned eyes of many a mortal maid
Glass me in gathering tears, soon kissed away;
Then walks she for a space, and then is laid
Swelling the bosom of the quiet clay.
I muse what this all-kindling Love may be,
And what this Death that never comes to me.
First-born and final relic of the night,
I dwell aloof in dim immensity;
The grey sky sparkles with my fairy light;
I mix among the dancers of the sea;
Yet stoop not from the throne I must retain
High o'er the silver sources of the rain.
Vicissitude I know not, nor can know,
Yet much discern strewed everywhere around;
The ever-stirring race of men below
Much do I watch, and wish I were not bound
The chainless captive of this lonely spot,
Where light-winged Mutability is not.
I see great cities rise, which being hoar
Are slowly rendered unto dust again;
And roaring billows preying on the shore;
And virgin isles ascending from the main;
The passing wave of the perpetual river;
And men depart, and man remaining ever.
The upturned eyes of many a mortal maid
Glass me in gathering tears, soon kissed away;
Then walks she for a space, and then is laid
Swelling the bosom of the quiet clay.
I muse what this all-kindling Love may be,
And what this Death that never comes to me.