I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.

When the white arm rests upon the knee it is a triangle now it is upright - a column now a fountain falling. It makes no sign it does not beckon it does not see us. Behind it roars the sea. It is beyond our reach. Yet there I venture. There I go to replenish my emptiness to stretch my nights and fill them fuller and fuller with dreams. And for a second even now even here I reach my object and say Wander no more. All is trial and make-believe. Here is the end.