An Impromptu

The stars are in the ebon sky,
Burning, gold, alone;
The wind roars over the rolling earth,
Like water over a stone.

We are like things in a river-bed
The stream runs over,
They see the iris, and arrowhead,
Anemone, and clover.

But they cannot touch the shining things,
For all their strife,
For the strong river swirls and swings--
And that is much like life.

For life is a plunging and heavy stream,
And there’s something bright above;
But the ills of breathing only seem,
When we know the light is love.

The stars are in the ebon sky,
Burning, gold, alone;
The wind roars over the rolling earth,
Like water over a stone.