’Tis a wonderful time when these hours begin, <br />These long ‘small hours’ of night, <br />When grass is crisp, and the air is thin, <br />And the stars come close and bright. <br />The moon hangs caught in a silvery veil, <br />From clouds of a steely grey, <br />And the hard, cold blue of the sky grows pale <br />In the wonderful Milky Way. <br />There is something wrong with this star of ours, <br />A mortal plank unsound, <br />That cannot be charged to the mighty powers <br />Who guide the stars around. <br />Though man is higher than bird or beast, <br />Though wisdom is still his boast, <br />He surely resembles Nature least, <br />And the things that vex her most. <br /> <br />Oh, say, some muse of a larger star, <br />Some muse of the Universe, <br />If they who people those planets far <br />Are better than we, or worse? <br />Are they exempted from deaths and births, <br />And have they greater powers, <br />And greater heavens, and greater earths, <br />And greater Gods than ours? <br /> <br />Are our lies theirs, and our truth their truth, <br />Are they cursed for pleasure’s sake, <br />Do they make their hells in their reckless youth <br />Ere they know what hells they make? <br />And do they toil through each weary hour <br />Till the tedious day is o’er, <br />For food that gives but the fleeting power <br />To toil and strive for more?<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-may-night-on-the-mountains/
