““Where then shall hope and fear their objects find? The harbor cold to the mating ships, And you have lost as you stand by the balcony With the forest of the sea calm and gray beneath. A strong impression torn from the descending light But night is guilty. You knew the shadow In the trunk was raving But as you keep growing hungry you forget. The distant box is open. A sound of grain Poured over the floor in some eagerness--we Rise with the night let out of the box of wind.””
