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1850–1931

UNDER THE STARS

John Lawson Stoddard

The breath of summer stirs the trees, A thousand roses round me bloom, Whose saffron petals give the breeze A wealth of exquisite perfume,

As, climbing high, with tendrils bold, They clothe the walls with cups of gold. No sound disturbs the silence sweet, The weary birds have sunk to rest;

For where the snow and sunset meet The light is fading in the west, And now the carking cares of day Slip lightly from my heart away.

The emptiness of social strife, The pettiness of human souls, The cheap frivolities of life, The keen pursuit of paltry goals,—

How small they seem beneath the dome That shelters my Tyrolean home! A shining mote, our tiny earth No furrow leaves in shoreless space!

What is one brief existence worth, Which disappears, and leaves no trace? That silent, star-strewn vault survives The dawns and dusks of countless lives.

Why grieve, dear heart? Oblivion deep Will soon enshroud both friend and foe, And those who laugh and those who weep Must join the hosts of long ago,

Whose transient hours of smiles and tears Make up earth's wilderness of years. The sunset's glowing embers die, The snow-peaks lose their crimson hue,

Through deepening shades the ruddy sky Burns slowly down to darkest blue, Wherein a million worlds of light Announce the coming of the night.

I gaze, and slowly my despair At human wretchedness and crime Gives place to hopes and visions fair,— So much may be evolved by time!

So much may yet men's souls surprise Beneath the splendor of God's skies! Some day, somewhere, in realms afar His light may make all problems plain,

And justice on some happier star May recompense this planet's pain, And earth's bleak Golgothas of woe Grow lovely in life's afterglow.

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UNDER THE STARS · John Lawson Stoddard · Poetry Cove