Stars
How countlessly they congregate O'er our tumultuous snow,
How countlessly they congregate O'er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!
-- As if with keenness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on To white rest,
and a place of rest Invisible at dawn,
-- And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white Minerva's snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.
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