Classic Poem

Unnumbered worlds flash round unnumbered suns:
World-generations battle, labour, cease,
And millions go down to the final peace
Through all the Starry Vast, while on there runs
Fierce generation still, and little ones
Clap tiny palms on million mothers' knees—
Themselves to toil and strive till death's release
And from their loins pour newer millions.
From time to time all Space doth halt and cry
On Thee, O Life,—for it would gladly know
Whence they have come and whither they must go—
Then a star falls, and silence gives reply. . . .
No answer else!—and Nature trudges on
With death and life and sunset, night and dawn.