By George Sterling

Musing, between the sunset and the dark.
    As Twilight in unhesitating hands
    Bore from the faint horizon's underlands,
Silvern and chill, the moon's phantasmal ark,
    Where that unalterable waste expands
    In sevenfold sapphire from the mournful sands,
And saw beyond the deep a vibrant spark.

There sank the sun Arcturus, and I thought:
    Star, by an ocean on a world of thine,
        May not a being, torn, like me, to die,
Confront a little the eternal Naught
    And watch our isolated sun decline-
        Sad for his evanescence, even as I?

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