Classic Poem

The fields of night are vacant:
O'er the hill
The starry host is hidden,
And the horse of the wind is ridden
Thro' the empty space at will.

A little while, the chariot
Of the world
May keep the road, still ranging
Upon its poles unchanging:
Then into space be hurled.

Dear Love,—lend me thy courage!—
Earth,—art gone?
Stars, gone out? Time trembles
To an end, and space dissembles:
The godlike soul lives on.