Saying things in the rooms and on the stair,
Or moonlight, silently, as Plato’s ghost
His stars on the wall. He must dwell quietly.
As those are: as light, for all its motion, is;
As shapes, though they portend us, are.
The human that has no cousin in the moon.
From beasts or from the incommunicable mass.
That will not hear us when we speak: a coolness,
Of which we are too distantly a part.