I have torn a hole in the song,
And I shall never get it back.
The innocence of the singing skylark
From the world and the sky is gone,
And the world turns to shining black,
And the universe is nothing but dark.
Yet in the darkness- there, somehow-
I can hear a richer and grander tune
That curves about me, and like wings
Supports me and holds me in darkness now,
Flaring with sudden light of moon,
And passing comets, and stranger things.
I look up at the polished dark sky,
And see streaks of light like scars
Or the tears that are falling down my face
Whirling over me, passing by,
And I realize that this is space lit by stars,
And an undreamed-of kind of grace.
Around me in solitude it goes on,
Majestic infinity, deep and quiet,
And perhaps there is no end or horizon.
And I know that tearing a hole in the song
Can make my emotions scream and riot,
And breathe up many a desperate orison,
But that does not make anything receive
My prayers, if there are no ears to hear.
My words only pass silent into the dark.
And whether I cry out, whether I believe,
Matters nothing to the stars without ear,
And matters not to the singing skylark
That I suddenly find myself again beneath.
I blink, choke back tears, and draw a breath.
"All is vanity" the preacher saith.
And yet strange new thoughts in me seethe,
And I wonder at the universe vaster than death,
And the new smallness of song and faith.
