Upon A Haystack On A Southern Night

Upon a haystack in lands of South, I lay, while facing skies of night, The choir of stars, alive and couth, Was trembling, spread at every side. The earth, mute as a dream half-hidden, Was fast receding into space, And I, as if the first in Eden, Alone met the black night’s face. Did I race to the depth profound, Or did the stars race strait to me? In mighty hands, it seemed me how, I hanged above abysmal sea. With heart, so sinking and bewildered, I measured with my look a depth, Into which, every moment sighted, I sink, and nobody helps.