When the red sun goes down their day begins:
For light flows to them from a thousand suns.
Theirs is the comet that unerring runs
A course ethereal; then strangely spins
A mystery about the sun, and wins
Surcease. Flashing from out the changeless dark
Burns the great system in a timeless mark,
Throne of the starry-armored paladins.
We wait the word: “What of the longed-for goal
Where troubled soul communes in peace with soul?
Or is earth, heaven? What says the starlit deep?
How fares the traveler on the ways of light?
Does he move on in joy on the eternal flight,
Or are far spaces but for dreamless sleep?”