Asleep, with pendant plumes—a dreaming god—
And dreams the pageantry of things—and dreams
The gifts that he has given with his hands—
The gifts that he has taken with his hands—
And dreams his own eternity.
* * *
I am one that loves
The stars of labyrinthine night whom the shrill dawn
Devours, the quietude of ultimate slopes
Thoughtful of twilight, peering moons that shed