I cried out for the pain of man, <br />I cried out for my bitter wrath <br />Against the hopeless life that ran <br />For ever in a circling path <br />From death to death since all began; <br />Till on a summer night <br />I lost my way in the pale starlight <br />And saw our planet, far and small, <br />Through endless depths of nothing fall <br />A lonely pin-prick spark of light, <br />Upon the wide, enfolding night, <br />With leagues on leagues of stars above it, <br />And powdered dust of stars below— <br />Dead things that neither hate nor love it <br />Not even their own loveliness can know, <br />Being but cosmic dust and dead. <br />And if some tears be shed, <br />Some evil God have power, <br />Some crown of sorrow sit <br />Upon a little world for a little hour— <br />Who shall remember? Who shall care for it?<br /><br />Clive Staples Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-prison-4/
