Reconciling of the sunlit waves,
Brothers back to back, moving ever
On toward shore; a grand
Ladies' tea party, that, finally
Beaten upon the hard, coarse sand,
Finds nothing at all expected.
And this gay, mad flight
Has only freed a sickly portion,
What world exists not;
And has destroyed all the rest,
Who had no such hopes at all,
With utter demolition—
For faithlessness in a world
Enduring what little can be held,
Or seen, felt or touched.
A hopeful enterprise, ruined
In a tumbling, chaotic longing
Arrived at nothing,
Without resolution at end,
But a kind of unexpected dying
A parceling out of parts,
Of the splayed, animated individual,
A massacre of innocents.