I could not sleep for thinking of the sky, The unending sky, with all its million suns Which turn their planets everlastingly In nothing, where the fire-haired comet runs. If I could sail that nothing, I should cross Silence and emptiness with dark stars passing, Then, in the darkness, see a point of gloss Burn to a glow, and glare, and keep amassing, And rage into a sun with wandering planets And drop behind; and then, as I proceed, See his last light upon his last moon's granites Die to dark that would be night indeed. Night where my soul might sail a million years in nothing, not even Death, not even tears.
~John Masefield, I Could Not Sleep for Thinking of the Sky