(To Alexander Smith) br br The stars we saw arise are high above, br And yet our Evensong seems sung too soon. br Good-Night! I lay my hand-with such a love br As thou wert brother of my blood-upon br Thy shoulder, and methinks beneath the moon br Those sisters, Anglia and Caledon, br Lean towards each other. Aye, for Man is one; br We are a host ruled by one trumpet-call, br Where each, armed in his sort, makes as he may br The general motion. The well-tuned array br We see; yet to what victory in what wars br We see not; but like the revolving stars br Move on ourselves. The total march of all br Or men or stars God knows.