Underneath the stars the houses are awake; 
Upward comes no sound my silent watch to break. 
Night has hid the street, with all its motley sights;
Miles around, afar, shine out the city lights:

Stars that softly glimmer in a lower sky, 
Dearer than, the glories unexplored on high;
Home-stars, that, like eyes, are glistening through the dark, 
With a human tremor wavers every spark. 

Glittering lamps above and twinkling lamps below;
The remote, strange splendor, the familiar glow:
One Eye, looking downward from creation’s dome,
Sees in both, his children’s window-lights of home. 

Who have dwellings there, in avenues of space? 
Whose clear torches kindle through the vague sky-place? 
Are they holding tapers, us, astray, to guide, 
spirit-pioneers, who lately left our side? 

Never drops an answer from those worlds unknown:
Yet no ray is shining for itself alone. 
Hints of heaven gleam upward, through our earthly nights;
Tremulous with pathos are the city lights:—

Tremulous with pathos of a half-told tale:
Through therein hope flickers, burning low and pale, 
It shall win completeness perfect as the sun:
Broken rays shall mingle, earth and heaven be one.
 

Lucy Larcom (1824 – 1893) was an American teacher, poet, and author.

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