when citied day with the sonorous homes

of light swiftly sink in the sorrowful hour,

thy counted petals O tremendous flower

on whose huge heart prospecting darkness roams

torture my spirit with the exquisite froms

and whithers of existence,

as by shores

soundless, the unspeaking watcher who adores

perceived sails whose mighty brightness dumbs

the utterance of his soul—so even i

wholly chained to a grave astonishment

feel in my being the delirious smart

of thrilled ecstasy, where sea and sky

marry—

to know the white ship of thy heart

on frailer ports of costlier commerce bent