WHILE the yellow constellations shine with pale and tender glory, In the lilac-scented stillness let us listen to earth’s story. All the flowers like moths a-flutter glimmer rich with dusky hues; Everywhere around us seem to fall from nowhere the sweet dews. Through the drowsy lull, the murmur, stir of leaf and sleepy hum, We can feel a gay heart beating, hear a magic singing come. Ah, I think that as we linger lighting at earth’s olden fire Fitful gleams in clay that perish, little sparks that soon expire: So the Mother brims her gladness from a life beyond her own, From whose darkness as a fountain up the fiery days are thrown; Starry words that wheel in splendour, sunny systems, histories, Vast and nebulous traditions told in the eternities. And our listening Mother whispers through her children all the story. Come: the yellow constellations shine with pale and tender glory!