Over the house of Capulet and Montague,
Moved by thunder, rinsed by rain,
The gentle eye of heaven blue –
Looks upon the ruins of the hostile forts,
Over shattered garden gates,
And hurls a star from on high –
This tear is for Juliet, every cypress says,
And for Romeo – from beyond our planet
It falls and soaks the graves,
While people say, and they’re men of learning:
These are not tears but stones,
And – for them . . . no one is waiting!