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IMMENSE and silent night,
Over the lonely downs I go;
And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light
Above me and below.
I cannot break the bars
Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky,
There comes to me, questioning those cold stars,
No signal, no reply.
Yet are they less than these—
These village-lights, which I do scan
Below me, or far out on darkling seas
Those messages from man?
Round me the darkness rolls.
Out of the depth, each lance of light
Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls,
And shall I doubt the height?
No signal? No reply?
As through the deepening night I roam,
Hope opens all her casements in the sky
And lights the lamps of home.
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