From South to North, no sky is black but thine.
Thy fecund brain, the Borealis, shows
A swaying disc with shades of dark for glows,
With but a faint salt smell of Color's brine,
The pent-up billows in the disc's dark close,
Which might flood midnight with rare, world-wide shine.
VII
We seek no annexation, but of Mind,
Heart, Spirit. True, thy clear, sonorous voice