In all senses, forever, the silence palpitates With clusters of gold stars interweaving their rounds. One might take them for gardens sanded with diamonds, But each in desolation, very solitary, scintillates. Now far down, in this corner unknown which vibrates With a furrow of rubies in its melancholy bounds, One spark with a twinkle of tenderness astounds: A patriarch guiding his family with lights. His family: a swarm of heavy globes; each a star is. And on one, it is Earth, a yellow point, Paris, Where a lamp is suspended and, on watch, a poor devil: In the universal order frail, unique human marvel. He himself is its mirror of a day and he knows it. Long he dreams there, then turns to a sonnet to compose it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |