a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
 
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
 
down eager avenues of lifelessness
 
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
 
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
 
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
 
of crumbling silence seriously smiles

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