The Gathering of the Star Poem by Paul Fort

UNTO thee shall be given a boat, and thou shalt all alone embark ...
The oars shall sleep along thy slumber in the dark.
And yet the river in the night shall guide.

The river has no way except its own to glide.
Thou shalt discover ocean dwelling with the night at hand.
Then strain upon thine oars towards thy star,
Furrowing the sea with furrow straight and far,
As in the sky its rigid pathway burns
Thy faithful, thy familiar star that never turns.

Go simply on thy way, and at the tempest mock,
Divide the billows through the tempest-shock,
Go straight to death, whose isle from vapours far
Shines like a moon, the little island where
All the great sky in dew is mirrored bare ...
Then land, and gather in the grass thy star.

translated by Jethro Bithell