We have struck the regions wherein we are keel or reef.
The wind breaks over us,
And against high sharp angles almost splits into words,
And these are of fear or grief.
Like a ship, we have struck expected latitudes
Of the universe, in March.
Through one short segments arch
Of the zodiacs round
We pass,
Thinking: Now we hear
What we heard last year,
And bear the winds rude touch
And its ugly sound
Equally with so much
We have learned how to bear.
