To a Lady, LXIII

The Earth, it is a little ball That sails thro’ ether clear, And beautiful it moves, through all The silent atmosphere; Ten thousand, thousand, miles away From any sister star, It is a lonely thing, they say, Yet shineth from afar; To each remotest star it smiles, And flieth all the time, And all its airy way, beguiles, With some celestial chime.