Dad

on the beach, at night,
stands a child, with his father,
watching the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
while ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,
amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
ascends, large and calm, the Moon;
and nigh at hand, only a very little above,
swim the delicate stars


From the beach, the child, holding the hand of his father,
those burial-clouds that lower, victorious, soon to devour all,
watching, cries.

Weep not, child,
weep not, my darling,
with these kisses let me remove your tears;
the ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
they shall not long possess the sky
moon shall emerge -be patient- watch again another night- the
stars shall emerge,
they are immortal- all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall
shine out again

The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again
The vast immortal suns shall again shine.