Stars

By Robert Frost

How countlessly they congregate

O’er our tumultuous snow,

Which flows in shapes as tall as trees

When wintry winds do blow!-

As if with keenness for our fate,

Out faltering few steps on

To white rest, and a place of rest

Invisible at dawn,-

And yet with neither love nor hate,

Those stars like some snow-white

Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes

Without the gift of sight.