Poesie

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge,  

Who spilled these stars across the sky

like sparkling dust like clouds of light?

They pour their milky shine into the deep black bowl above their heads

white glittering too many to count.

The Milky Way by Barbara Juster Esbensen.

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw

Or heard or felt came not but from myself;

And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

Tea at the Palaz of Hoon

Wallace Stevens

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,

A Traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

She Was a Phantom of Delight

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.”

— William Wordsworth

Note from me: At some books, it says "through strange eons of thought alone". 

Love and death above the stars.

As if we knew, the strange attraction of uttering ancient wisdoms, 

Through memory and lethargy, whoever finds it, shallow although profound, underneath the Alpha cygni. May he stay, may he love, may he be, may he die 

into the mourning sounds of exploding Supernovas . And shall he ask: was it is worth it? Blind and fragile, reasoning unlawfully, remains still and paralysed, with an unblinking thought,

With unparalled bravoury. While falling.

Unknown.