The delectable names of harsh places: Cilicia Aspera, Estremadura. In that smooth wave of cello-sound, Mojave, We hear no ill of brittle parch and glare. So late October's pasture-fringe, With aster-blur and ferns of toasted gold, Invites to barrens where the crop to come Is stone prized upward by the deepening freeze. Speechless and cold the stars arise On the small garden where we have dominion. Yet in three tongues we speak of Taurus' name And of Aldebaran and the Hyades, Recalling what at best we know, That there is beauty bleak and far from ours, Great reaches where the Lord's delighting mind, Though not inhuman, ponders other things.