“For the voice from the grave reverberates in others’ mouths, as the sails
Of the whitethorn hedge swell up in a little breeze, and tremble,
Like the spiral blossom of Andromeda: so suddenly are shrouds and branches
Hung with street-lights, celebrating all that’s lost, as fields are reclaimed
By the Starry Plough. So we name the constellations, to put a shape
On what was there; so, the storyteller picks his way between the isolated stars.”

—Ciaran Carson, from Hamlet. The Faber Book of Vernacular Verse, edited by Tom Paulin, 1988.