Not a cloud in the sky and the pier hangs in mist
No swiftness and not a cloud to mark this soul
But brightness all around so fiercely torpid
Nothing can be seen at all.

The front is so wide I walk with my eyes closed
And the sea breathes shallow as a roosting dove
My unblemished soul goes shapeless through the light:
Pale calf-hide, it has need of the cloud’s love.

There you stand, like the fish upon its tail,
Who tasted all the various hells upon the earth
And was marked for ever by the passage of a cloud
And the rain, and the birds, and all such things of worth.