Classic Poem

In the mirk that circles us
Starry clear thy image stood,
Like the gold ranunculus
On the black pools in the wood.

While its pure refulgence shone,
Even despair grew thin and bright,
As behind the burning sun
Darkest ether melts to white.

Now that image quits the sky,
Plunges like a falling star,
Slips, out of the pride on high,
Down, down where the pities are.

What an empty world for me!
What a night without a sound!
Suddenly eternity
With its blackness folds me round.