There is no wrath in the stars, They do not rage in the sky; I look from the evil wood And find myself wondering why. Why do they not scream out And grapple star against star, Seeking for blood in the wood As all things round me are? They do not glare like the sky Or flash like the deeps of the wood; But they shine softly on In their sacred solitude. To their high, happy haunts Silence from us has flown, She whom we loved of old And know it now she is gone. When will she come again, Though for one second only? She whom we loved is gone And the whole world is lonely. And the elder giants come Sometimes, tramping from far Through the weird and flickering light Made by an earthly star. And the giant with his club, And the dwarf with rage in his breath, And the elder giants from far, They are all the children of Death. They are all abroad to-night And are breaking the hills with their brood, -- And the birds are all asleep Even in Plug Street Wood! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HER DILEMMA; IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY THE CAGED SKYLARK by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS' by SARA TEASDALE YOU MAY REMEMBER by LULU PIPER AIKEN MY BATH by JOHN STUART BLACKIE GREAT DAYS by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB LINES UNDER THE PICTURE OF MISS BURNS by ROBERT BURNS THE FAREWELL. TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON by ROBERT BURNS |