I have a homing instinct for the stars,
The Pleiades are calling me to come,
Beyond the Plough, the fields of cosmic corn
Lie shining in the glory of their sun.
Deep in the clearings of ancestral space,
A thousand distant points of reference shine;
High, high above me in the frozen night,
Some minute star is burning, which is mine.
Away! The night is drawing to a close!
The locks of Venus on the ocean lie;
Already in the East beyond the hills,
Apollo’s golden horses paw the sky.