EARTH, that hast countless aeons of swift days Spun from thy poles — and like a mote been swirled Fleet years about thy Master Orb — and hurled With all thy starry fellows into space, Silent and irresistible on the face Of heavens, and of heavens' heavens unfurled — And yet remainest our remembering world, Our kindly home, and our familiar place, — Thou dost not fail, sweet, immemorial Earth, To number o'er thy sons that were thy kings; Chants royal raisest thou among the rings Celestial of old stars for their great worth Whose birth was not as is our common birth, But was foreplanned with elemental things. |