I could not sleep for thinking of the sky, The unending sky, with all its million suns Which turn their planets everlastingly In nothing, where the fire-haired comet runs.
If I could sail that nothing, I should cross Silence and emptiness with dark stars passing, Then, in the darkness, see a point of gloss Burn to a glow, and glare, and keep amassing,
And rage into a sun with wandering planets And drop behind, and then, as I proceed, See his last light upon his last moons granites Die to dark that would be night indeed.
Night where my soul might sail a million years In nothing, not even death, not even tears.
