It dreams in the deepest sleep, it remembers the storm
last month or it feels the far storm
Off Unalaska and the lash of the sea rain.
It is never mournful but wise, and taKes the magical
misrule of the steep world
With strong tolerance, its depth is not moved
From where the green sun fails to where the thin red clay
lies on the basalt
And there has never been light nor life.
The black crystal, the untroubled fountain, the roots of
Therefore I belted
The house and the tower with stone,
And have planted the naked foreland with future forest
toward noon and morning: for it told me,
The time I was gazing into the black crystal,
To be faithful in storm, patient of fools, tolerant of
memories and the muttering prophets,
It is needful to have night in one's body.