The Great Starry Void
The sheltering sky, the devouring vastness.
The eye wants to sleep but the head is no mattress.
What words are there to tell how long a night can be?
Drunk with love, I wander in the dark.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
Wallace Stevens (via