THE MILKY WAY 



WITH the first sustained breath of frost the 

 beauty of the Galaxy becomes the chief glory 

 of the nocturnal skies. But in midsummer 

 even what amplitude of space, what infinite 

 depths it reveals, and how mysterious that 

 filmy stardrift blown like a streaming banner 

 from behind the incalculable brows of an 

 unresting Lord of Space, one of those Sons 

 of the Invisible, as an oriental poet has it, 

 whose ceaseless rush through eternity leaves 

 but this thin and often scarce visible dust, 

 'delicate as the tost veil of a dancing girl 

 swaying against the wind.' Perhaps no one 

 of our poets, and poetry ancient and modern 

 and of every country and race is full of allu- 

 sions to the Galaxy, has more happily imaged 

 it in a single line than Longfellow has done in 



" Torrent of light and river of the air." 



As a river, or as a winding serpent, or as a 



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