But let me have one more good round look aloft here at the sea; there’s time for that. An old, old sight, and yet somehow so young; aye, and not changed a wink since I first saw it, a boy, from the sand-hills of Nantucket! The same! – the same! – the same to Noah as to me
But then he cried in exultation and surrender
“The Godhead is broken like bread. We are the pieces.”
Oh, lonely death on lonely life!
I turn my body from the sun
And sat down at his desk and wrote a story