LAMPS

Immense and silent night,

Over the lonely downs I go;

And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light

Above me and below.

I cannot break the bars

Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky,

There comes to me, questioning those cold stars,

No signal, no reply.

Yet are they less than these —

These village-lights, which I do scan

Below me, or far out on darkling seas

Those messages from man?

Round me the darkness rolls.

Out of the depth, each lance of light

Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls,

And shall I doubt the height?

No signal? No reply?

As through the deepening night I roam,

Hope opens all her casements in the sky

And lights the lamps of home.