III. 
I was a child long years ago, it seems, 
Or months it may be—I am still a child— 
They pictured me the stars as wheeling wild 
In a huge bowl of water ; but my dreams 
Built it of Titan oak, its sides were piled 
Of fearful wood 
Hewn from God’s forests, paid with sweat and tears and 
blood. 
 
IV. 
I crept, a stealthy, hungry soul, to grasp 
Its vast edge, to look out to the beyond ; 
To know.  My eyes strained out, there was no bond, 
No continuity, no bridge to clasp, 
No pillars for the universe.  Immond, 
Shapeless, unstayed, 
Nothing, Nothing, Nothing, Nothing !  I was afraid. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
1 3