Acts of injustice done Between the setting and the rising sun In history lie like bones, each one.
Cold, impossible, ahead Lifts the mountain's lovely head Whose white waterfall could bless Travellers in their last distress.
Now the leaves are falling fast, Nurse's flowers will not last; Nurses to their graves are gone, And the prams go rolling on.
I am beginning to lose patience With my personal relations. They are not deep And they are not cheap.
Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea.
To ask the hard question is simple, The simple act of the confused will.