Classic Poem

Under the open sky, its myriad star-points gleaming,
The gibbous moon swings up from the eastern hills,
The pine-tree moans as the breeze sweeps through its Æolian heart.
I listen intent to the music and find the music within me;
I gaze on the white, silent moon—its light is within my soul;
The stars, too, shine out of the vast reaches of my own consciousness.
The open heavens are too small to contain me; I contain them.
I crowd them all into the merest corner of my soul
And sometimes forget they are there.