by Sara Teasdale
Alone in the night
 On a dark hill
With pines around me
 Spicy and still,
And a heaven full of stars
 Over my head,
White and topaz
 And misty red;
Myriads with beating
 Hearts of fire
That aeons
 Cannot vex or tire;
Up the dome of heaven
 Like a great hill,
I watch them marching
 Stately and still,
And I know that I
 Am honored to be
 Of so much majesty.