So, must we from the hawk’s far stemming view,
Must we descend as worm’s eye to construe
Our love of all we touch, and take it to the Gate
As humbly as a guest who knows himself too late,
His news already told? Yes, while the heart is wrung,
Arise—yes, take this sheaf of dust upon your tongue!
Bequeath us to no earthly shore until
Is answered in the vortex of our grave
The seal’s wide spin drift gaze toward paradise.
-Hart Crane-