These alternate nights and days, these seasons Somehow fail to convince me.
It seems I have the sense of infinity! (In your dreams,
O crew of Columbus,
O listeners over the sea For the surf that breaks upon Nothing—) Once I was waked by the nightingales in the garden.
I thought,
What time is it?
I thought,
Time—Is it Time still?—Now is it Time? (Tell me your dreams,
O sailors:
Tell me, in sleep did you climb The tall masts, and before you—) At night the stillness of old trees Is a leaning over and the inertness Of hills is a kind of waiting. (In sleep, in a dream, did you see The world’s end?
Did the water Break—and no shore—Did you see?) Strange faces come through the streets to me Like messengers: and I have been warned By the moving slowly of hands at a window.
Oh,
I have the sense of infinity— But the world, sailors, is round.
They say there is no end to it.
