Then, put their shoulders to Night's gate, to loose
Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain,
To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise
Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain.
II
O heart and brain, who see the father load
His train with food, not for the few, but all,
And hear train-whistlings in March winds, jay call
And ground-hog sniffs! Haste out, for from the road
That leads to every Industry's abode,