Sparkling in splendor, the Kite and the Dipper
Crossed the black welkin, and Scorpio's star
Lit on the runway stag, herdsman and skipper,
When I was dust, perhaps, bed-rock or spar.
Dust, fire, or dew, or the wind of the morning,
Foam of some seacoast unknown, on the deep,
Somewhere I lived in creation's adorning,
Still, on the nights when Joan walked with her sheep.
What was I dreaming and where did I wander,
All through the Augusts be fore I could know?
Crystal the Archer swept high over yonder:
Close to the zenith burned Vega's blue snow.
Glory on glory the night's coronation
Circled the heavens before I was born—
Shone while I slept in the soul of creation
Somewhere when Ruth wept for home in the corn.
Glory on glory the night's coronation
Throbbed in a beauty past dream and desire,
Proud as I slept in the soul of creation,
Breath of the morning or bed-rock or fire.