A thousand keen eyes peer
From out Earth's atmosphere,
Following the borrowed beam,
Which restlessly she flings
Midst the sun-circling rings,
The planetary scheme.

She wonders at the light
Cast through the depths of night,
Where Aldeboran burns:
Which travels myriad years,
Passing unnumbered spheres,
To reach her, where she turns.

But what knows he of her,
He, of her sun the peer,
In his tremendous might:
Whether her rays may gain
The circuit of his reign,
Or midway cease in night?

She round about her sun
From space to space doth run:
He, as he was erewhile,
Sits on his fixed throne,
Shines where he ever shone,
As if she moved no mile.

So far is he in space,
That her mile-million race
As emmet's inch is run:
Nor may that little range
Avail his place to change:
He looks upon the sun.

Moon, thou hast power to burn
Through mists, and clouds to turn
To silver-threaded haze:
The cedar holds thee now
In his cavernous bough,
Thee, and thy white-armed fays.

Enough it is for thee
Earth's comforter to be,
To make a holy place,
Where naught is seen by day
But ravin and decay,
Men, and what men deface.