How can we guess its truth,
to darkness born,
The obscure consequences of
absent glow ?
Only the stars do teach us light.
We grasp their scattered smallness's
with thoughts that stray.
And, though their eyes look through
night's complete mask.
Yet they speak not the features of
the day.
Why should these small denials of the
whole more than the black whole the
pleased eyes attract ?
Why what it calls "worth" does the
captive soul add to the small and from
the large detract ?
So, out of light's love wishing it night's
stretch.
A nightly thought of day we darkly reach...
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