His thoughts, delivered to me From the white coverlet and pillow, I see now, were inheritances Delicate riders of the storm.
Praise for an Urn (l. 5-8). In The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, by Richard Ellmann and Robert O'Clair (1988)
There are no stars to-night But those of memory. Yet how much room for memory there is In the loose girdle of soft rain.Hart Crane
And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced As though the sun took step of thee, yet left Some motion ever unspent in thy stride, Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!Hart Crane