Classic Poem

Unto the stars I said one night:
“Ye are unhappy, as I deem.
Your rays, so softly, meekly bright,
Through boundless spaces sadly stream.

“And oft I fancy that ye go
Like white-clad mourners through the sky,
With myriad virgins holding high
Their torches in procession slow.

“Live ye one ceaseless life of prayer?
Is grief with your existence wed?
For these are tears of light most fair,
Not rays of glory, that ye shed.

“O ancient stars, that lived and shone
Ere gods or creatures filled the years,
Within your eyes are bitter tears.”
They answered me: “We are alone!

“Each one of us is very far
From all her sisters seen by thee;
Our beams no messengers can be
Of what we feel or what we are.

“And cold, unfeeling space devours
The final warmth of every ray.”
I said: “I know what ye would say,
For ye are like these souls of ours.

“For they, like you, with friendly light
Their sisters seem to warm and bless,
Yet in eternal loneliness
They burn in silence and in night.”