If I talk to you, dear star, Of my loved ones gone before, Can you tell me through the spaces, Can you tell me where they are?
If I talk to you, dear star, Of the hour of the day, When my soul in brighter places, Shall be seeking them afar, Will you light me on the way, Can you tell me this, dear star?
A grieving speaker turns to a star as the only listener who might know where her dead loved ones have gone. She puts the same wish twice, nearly word for word: if she speaks to the star about those "gone before," can it tell her, across all that empty distance, where they are? The repetition makes the poem feel like a quiet, persistent murmur, the way people sometimes talk to themselves late at night.
In the second stanza her question moves from the past to her own future. She imagines the hour of her death, when her soul will go "seeking them afar," and asks the star to light her way. Nothing in the poem says she is afraid. She sounds more hopeful than fearful, picturing "brighter places" ahead. Still, every line ends in a question, and no answer comes. The mood is gentle, sorrowful and longing, and it rests on a faith that is more wish than certainty.