Cold night, cold with pointed stars
That swing like instant scimitars,
How you reproach with acid fire
The smoky lamps of our desire.
Cold stars, inexorably aloof,
That freeze from Vision's dizziest roof,
On these our human sins you brood
In pride of glacial rectitude.
Cold stars, come down and walk along
Our avenues of Sense and Song;
Take human shape one night and vex
Your bowels with the scourge of sex.
When you return at last to those
Cold skies from whence your travel rose,
Will you still stare with such disdain,
When you, cold stars, are stars again?