Like a Star

No spirit have T, when the moon is full,
To run to greet it on the round earth’s edge;
Nor, when the spring has mantled every hedge
With all the marvel and the miracle
Of blade, and leaf, and blossom white as wool,
Am I the first to cry aloud. All still,
When others shout, I lie upon the hill.
Beholding, maniple on maniple,
The ranks unfold, — leaf, blossom, beast, and bird;
l et in my heart a high priest chants his praise,
Not less devout because it is not heard
Of men who pass me on the public ways.
I have no song, —no, not a single bar, —
But my soul, sleepless, gazes like a star.