God, that a sky should be as blue as this, As grave and beautiful and filled with light For those far-faring birds whose way it is To lose themselves at last in lonely flight! And yet, so much my own, so dear, so dear Is all a summer sky may be or do, That though I shut my eyes it still is here, As beautiful as ever, and as blue. There, with its hidden stars, its lonely birds, And here in me, no less, by day, by night, Aye, even in this poem as I write, Spreading its blue again above these words -- So that I half expect, as day declines, To see the stars look out among these lines. |