Of these things the stars are made,
Shining in their vast parade:
Light that glimmers in the dark,
Kindled from a primal spark
Wind that blows the dust about,
Breathing ever out and out
Fire that beats back the cold,
Making elements of old.
Of these things the stars are born,
Bits of matter rent and torn --
Thus they make lifeforms as well,
Hearts and tongues their tales to tell.