In happy mood I love the hush
Of the lone creatures of God's hand,
But when I hate I want the rush
Of storms that trample sea and land.

The stars are out beyond the storms
Which are my kin, and they are cold
And critical, and creep in swarms
To guess what could be never told.

Thomas MacDonagh

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-stars-18/