It is the world, tonight, that I let go,
when thoughts too far from words burn on my tongue,
and rest’s ache rests upon me here, among
the sundered stars that I shall never know.
What can I hold in this strange plane below
the fire-hot regions where all love is strung?
Across the moonless sky the stars are flung,
fixed foreignly in orbits far they glow,
and shine not for my sake, but theirs alone.
Yet when I see those burning hearts tonight,
there flames the selfsame passion throne to throne—
in my cold soul it kindles from that height—
And so across the void light calls to light,
So each forsaken unknown calls unknown.