from the article:
Nightfall
When the sun, behind the mountain, is extinguished and twilight says, “silence,” and the mists shroud the valley, of the sun for mourning;
of the afternoon, in brief agony, when, upon ribs, moans the wind, like lighthouses on high, are lit trembling stars.
By their light, veiled by the subtle gauze of daydreams, I divine another earth, happy peaceful and mysterious.
And on the road to the dreamt-up country, A star—my star—from afar, Seems to light up the longed-for shore of heaven.