And still these men they wonder at the stars
As evening falls long and soft across the land
And stars are set by myriad living hands
While tides rise with waves that break but do not mar

And still these men they wonder at the stars
At the gleam and shine in Luna’s opal face
Over blue and silver slivered lakes
And fraught gray wastes where light and dark make war

And still these men they wonder at the stars
At the racing comet’s razor knife blade
Cutting cross the cosmos’ tender nape
Shedding as blood shining shards wide and far

And still these men they wonder at the stars
At domes of night and faint lights that shiver
Bound by selfish strands that will not sever
But weep unshorn St. Laurent’s fiery tears

And these men will wonder at the stars
Until the coming of he whose word is force
Whose very whispers sing like swords
And night in dying darkness drops her golden hoard