George Brewster Gallup
White whorls of stars slow turning in the sky,
Across the borders of the measured night,
On, on beyond the treasures of the eye,
Where only magic lenses garner sight :
Transparent reapers of dim sheaves of light.
One spiral vast, a mote against the sky
Now rises like a flock upon the night,
Wherein ten thousand million stars rely
Upon the boundless, brooding infinite
To guide their lambent pinions curved in flight.
Behold Andromeda's dim aureole of light,
An island universe in yonder sky,
Whose rays a million years ago took flight
To reach this very hour my wondering eye :
Is this O god a throne of thine, I cry.George Brewster Gallup
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