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A STAR COMES SINGING

And there are crossed and complex things,Life ever growing out of itselfToward a perfect crystal,Then swiftly dissolving and recrystallizing:What has been only guessed at,What is, seen vaguely and deceivingly,What will be, a flowering stupendous and unrealizable—All out of the restless rock,And into the restless rock returning.
VII.
Flower of the Dust
What a flower of the dust is man!With eyes to see his mother earth, forever blind,With ears to hear her song, who is deaf forever,With lips to speak the word of the eternal dumb one.
Into far space reach the sightless chainsThat swing earth spiraling on,And the chains with which she swings the stars,Even the largest and most radiant.

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