Its Message Like the Ring of Fire in an Annular Solar Eclipse Made by a Vivid Orb
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What is our planet but a little sphere
Of blue, peculiar in the black of space,
A blue embracing greens and orange, here
And there the whiteness of its clouds, its face
In little veils of purity? It sweeps
In oval path through vacuum so dark
That all the vastnesses of ruthless deeps
Are stunned by loveliness and courage stark.
Our earth believes the beauteous lies we’re told
By best religionists: that, far above
Unutterable lengths of blankness, bold
Assurances of meaning come from love.
This tiny globe asserts her faith in speed
And curve. She prophesies an arching creed.