The Dancers: A Plea
    Now with soft wail of funeral drums,
    On the world gentle even comes.
    And with crystal weeping divine,
    Softly the stars begin to shine.
    They robe themselves in sunset-blue,
    With silken silver threads of dew,
    And dance night-long 'mid silent halls,
    Where distant the cool starlight falls.

    Divine dancers, on us look down
    From heaven's height, creation's crown.
    What see you, that you shed your tears
    Who have watched the world thankless years?
    Dancers, withdraw not your bright balm
    That paints the glowing waters calm,
    And falls in tattered banners furled
    On this despairing, thirsty world.

    Stars, the troubling questions of life
    As why there are such things as strife
    And war converts daily gaining,
    And newly wounded and paining
    All the hot and furious days,
    Fade when on your gleam far I gaze.
    Then do I find silver surcease,
    Lighted wonder, silence, and peace.