Robert Frost (1874–1963). A Boy’s Will. 1915.
6. Stars
H
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!—
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,—
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.