We are born at nightfall and we die ere morn, And the whole darkness of the world know...

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...