"What are the suns, if even
Sol Invictus, runt of their litter
pours more light, through sieving
Than would turn our world to glitter?
"What then must be, even more
The Womb of Stars, that vault
Amid the dusts of heaven's shore
Where each is made without fault?
"And how great is it - this pain
As dusky heaven brings forth her sons
That all of the worlds are but the stain
Of blood and water, from these mighty ones?"
The Poet Conisders the Lights of Heaven