Upon the Pier at Night - Part 5
No lover ever kissed the eternal blue
Broad sky. No eyes of stars have e'er shone through
A golden star-wife's eyes. —
In lonely loveless silence through the waste
Trackless abysses must their footsteps haste.
Forlorn are all the skies.
If we set forth from this our planet's rim
And sailed the sky-sea to the farthest brim
We should not find one fair
Oasis-island thronged by human faces: —
Vacant and eyeless are the abysmal spaces:
No laugh thrills the blue air.
No woman's silvery laughter rings along
The far heights, — only the dull wind's bleak song:
No children's shouts are heard.
The gold stars have not found one single harp: —
They swim the purple seas like golden carp,
One dense and brainless herd.
Death reigns through all the heights and all the deep,
One lone interminable dreary sleep.
The stars have golden wings —
Yet oh how far more sweet one dear green glade
On earth, wherein beneath tall pine-trees' shade
A grey-eyed glad girl sings.
Just earth we know, and love, — and nothing more.
The far star-spaces are an unknown shore
Whereon the unknown tides beat.
Oh, let us love, and kiss, and hand in hand
Upon our poor small homely planet stand: —
A cottage-home is sweet.
Our planet, though it be not first nor third
Nor tenth in order, none the less hath heard
Divine love-laughter sound.
In its green vales the amorous myrtle grows,
And red carnations, and the sovereign rose:
Its nights are passion-crowned.
Here live we, here we die. The gods have bent
Above our planet's forests well content:
Here they have dwelt of old.
What gods dwell in the air? We know not these
We know the nymphs of our own woodland trees
And elves o' the purple wold.
O earth, thou art our own! The stars shine far
Above our heads: we know not what they are:
Great gold grand dreary things.
We love our earth because she is a bride
For ever near us, seated at our side;
She hath no hurtling wings!
She hath a sunburnt bosom good to kiss:
Sweet with the smell of corn and with the bliss
Of countless summer flowers.
We covet not a bride with breast more white;
We know her beauty waits us every night
In her deep-scented bowers.
Broad sky. No eyes of stars have e'er shone through
A golden star-wife's eyes. —
In lonely loveless silence through the waste
Trackless abysses must their footsteps haste.
Forlorn are all the skies.
If we set forth from this our planet's rim
And sailed the sky-sea to the farthest brim
We should not find one fair
Oasis-island thronged by human faces: —
Vacant and eyeless are the abysmal spaces:
No laugh thrills the blue air.
No woman's silvery laughter rings along
The far heights, — only the dull wind's bleak song:
No children's shouts are heard.
The gold stars have not found one single harp: —
They swim the purple seas like golden carp,
One dense and brainless herd.
Death reigns through all the heights and all the deep,
One lone interminable dreary sleep.
The stars have golden wings —
Yet oh how far more sweet one dear green glade
On earth, wherein beneath tall pine-trees' shade
A grey-eyed glad girl sings.
Just earth we know, and love, — and nothing more.
The far star-spaces are an unknown shore
Whereon the unknown tides beat.
Oh, let us love, and kiss, and hand in hand
Upon our poor small homely planet stand: —
A cottage-home is sweet.
Our planet, though it be not first nor third
Nor tenth in order, none the less hath heard
Divine love-laughter sound.
In its green vales the amorous myrtle grows,
And red carnations, and the sovereign rose:
Its nights are passion-crowned.
Here live we, here we die. The gods have bent
Above our planet's forests well content:
Here they have dwelt of old.
What gods dwell in the air? We know not these
We know the nymphs of our own woodland trees
And elves o' the purple wold.
O earth, thou art our own! The stars shine far
Above our heads: we know not what they are:
Great gold grand dreary things.
We love our earth because she is a bride
For ever near us, seated at our side;
She hath no hurtling wings!
She hath a sunburnt bosom good to kiss:
Sweet with the smell of corn and with the bliss
Of countless summer flowers.
We covet not a bride with breast more white;
We know her beauty waits us every night
In her deep-scented bowers.
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