Classic Poem

Heaven and earth are speaking about something,
one to the other, in the winsome evening.
A star in the roseate ether,
a lamp in the hovering gloom.

Those below hold converse with the heaven-born,
when, O earth, thou art again in darkness;
when it seems that the hour has ceased moving,
and is waiting for what is to come.

Planets three along the azure vaulting,
windows three along the darkening river;
seven houses within the hushed village,
seven Pleiades not far above.

Houses black, but white the Seven Sisters!
Houses scattered: Sirius, Arcturus!
There's a star, or a luminous cluster
for each man, or for each human group.

Dwellings those each one of which a world is;
shining forth from each its own fire burning;
and in them a joyous confusion
not heard a few paces away.

And between the worlds, like a grey veiling,
strays the smoke that rises from each hearth-stone.
O'er the quivering calm of the heavens
floats the veil of the fair Milky Way.