The four wide winds of evening have their stars,
Fashioned in fire, in purity of snow,
Tossed to their height by endless avatars —
These all the righteous know.
What of the stars of Hades? On the gloom
The outcast see them shine like angels’ eyes,
And in the living night that is their tomb
They dream of Paradise.
They know the stars of Hades. They are deeds,
Wickedly born, which came to good at last —
Fair blossoms spring from villany of weeds,
Rest — and redeem the past.