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,

Benignly longing

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.