Classic Poem

Best comrade of my soul, would thou wert here,
That we, beneath these orbs of lambent gold,
Discourse might share, or mute communion hold
With constellations drawing strangely near
As if those secrets they would render clear
Oft importuned by speculation bold
When thou their infinite mystery manifold
Strove to translate, while biding on our sphere.
My mournful spirit vainly scans the night,
In vain I question lone immensity;
Yon reticent stars watch from their solemn height;
The sad, pale moon drowns in the darkling sea;
Drift on the Fire Mists in eternal flight;
O from the Silent Vast, speak thou to me.