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And of those seldom dreams

We spoke, he and I, how

They worked themselves away

Into lonely, darker

Territoires d'outre-mer

Where they not founder, but,

Livid in their corsage,

Press in meaning yet more

Strange, and we founder there.

They are so unlike us :

To our visitation

Improper, dispiriting.

We wake, empty of love,

To roll our bodies on

Into that further sea

Breeding high at the rim

Before the shallow curtain

And the falls. Humble life!

It will not let us know

Ourselves, and keeps our names

From us, and makes us child-

Like, without attention,

While our being complicates.

No words for the Gespenst.

He took his drink again,

And something of it went

From him, burning him off.