Listen.

Manara, Windowsill, Undated

So, must we from the hawk’s far stemming view,   

Must we descend as worm’s eye to construe   

Our love of all we touch, and take it to the Gate

As humbly as a guest who knows himself too late,

His news already told? Yes, while the heart is wrung,

Arise—yes, take this sheaf of dust upon your tongue!

In one last angelus lift throbbing throat—

Listen ...

- Hart Crane, from "The Bridge: Quaker Hill"