Night falls on the lone
- Sahara, and spark by spark
Arabs I have not known
- Light fires in the dark.
Of the specks of ash in the smoke,
- Which atom knows
From what fire it awoke,
- Or whither it goes?
In the wilds of Space, in the dark,
- Spiral nebulae
Twirl spark upon spark,
- Whereof one are we.
Who can say for what task
- They arose, or whither they slip?
And all the Spirits I ask
- Stand, finger on lip.
From Fifty Poems (London: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1929)
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