The crown of eight stars
Bright at gentle sunset to shine recedes
But at such a demure pace
As to permit the grateful falsehood
That something in the universe persists

That child with caprine leglings and flowery diadem
Who drags the venison head
Murmurs the opposite tale
That all all proceeds in mere flux
That all is swept away

And who stitches these rival truths
Would not profess to understand their unity
Or to render them unto the cincted manner
But only to effect the slender mantle
Red against the deepening blue