Stars

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 keeness 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 starts like somw snow-white

Minerva's snow-white marble eyes

Without the gift of sight.