The Song Of Empedocles

And you, ye stars,

Who slowly begin to marshal,

As of old, in the fields of heaven,

Your distant, melancholy lines!

Have you, too, survived yourselves?

Are you, too, what I fear to become?

You, too, once lived;

You too moved

Among august companions,

In an older world, peopled by Gods,

In a mightier order,

The radiant, rejoicing, intelligent Sons of Heaven.

But now, ye

Your lonely, cold-shining lights,

Unwilling

In the heavenly wilderness,

For a younger, ignoble world;

And renew, by necessity,

Night after night your courses,

In echoing, unneared silence,

Above a race you know not—Uncaring and undelighted,

Without friend and without home;

Weary like us, though

Weary with our weariness.