The Letter

The night is measureless, no voice, no cry,
Pierces the dark in which the planet swings --
It is the shadow of her bulk that flings
So deep a gloom on the enormous sky;
This timorous dust, this phantom that is I,
Cowers in shelter, while the evening brings
A sense of mystery and how all things
Waver like water and are gliding by.
Now, while the stars in heaven like blowing sand
Drift to their darkness, while oblivion
Hushes the fire of some fading sun,
I turn the page again -- and there they stand,
Traced by love's fleeting but victorious hand,
The words: "My darling, my beloved one."