THOUGHT.
Reading edition
The stars move calm within the brow of night: No sea of molten flame therein is pent, Nor meteors, from that burning chaos, blent, Shoot from their orbits in a maddening flight. But in the brain is clasped a flood of light, Whose seething fires can find no form, nor vent, And pour, through the strained eyeballs, glances, rent From suffering worlds within, hidden from sight And laboring for birth. This chaos deep Touch thou, O Thought! and crystallize to form, Resolve to order its wild lightning storm Of meteor dreams! that into life shall leap At thy command, and move before thy face In starry majesty, and awful grace.