O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,

Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space;

His chariots of wrath the deep thunder clouds form,

And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.

Robert Grant, from Hymns Ancient and Modern

O stars,

isn’t it from you that the lover’s desire for the face

of his beloved arises? Doesn’t his secret insight into her pure features come from the pure constellations?

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Third Duino Elegy from The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (vert. Stephen Mitchell)

Fine vapors escape from whatever is doing the living.

The night is cold and delicate and full of angels

Pounding down the living. The factories are all lit up,

The chime goes unheard.

We are together at last, though far apart.

John Ashberry, The Ecclesiast from River and Mountains