There, by the starlit fences,The wanderer halts and hearsMy soul that lingers sighingAbout the glimmering weirs.
Here Vaughan lies dead, whose name flows on for ever Through pastures of the spirit washed with dew And starlit with eternities unknown.
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities The fury and the mire of human veins.
I belong to the Great Church which holds the world within its starlit aisles; that claims the great and good of every race and clime; that finds with joy the grain of gold in every creed, and floods with light and love the germs of good in every soul.
O star-built bridge, broad milky way! O star-lit, stately, splendid span! If but one star should cease to stay And prop its shoulders to God's plan The man who lives for self, I say, He lives for neither God nor man.joaquin miller
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