They rolled around with a soundless sound
Like softly bruised silk;
They poured into the bowl of the sky
With the gentle flow of milk.

In eager, pulsing violet
Their wheeling chariots came,
Or they poised above the Polar rim
Like a coronal of flame.

From depths of darkness fathomless
Their lancing rays were hurled,
Like the all-combining search-lights of
The navies of the world.

There on the roof-pole of the world
As one bewitched I gazed,
And howled and grovelled like a beast
As the awful splendors blazed.

(This is an excerpt from a much longer poem)

– Robert Service

The image at the top can be found here.

Save