The waters that feel my powerless strength
And meet my homeless oar
Laboring over their ashen length
Never to find a shore.
But the gleam still skims
At times on the somnolent lake,
And a light there is that swims
With the whirl of a snake:
And tho’ dead be the hour i’ the air
And dayless the sky,
The heart is alive of the boatman there:
That boatman am I.
-Trumball Stickney from In the Past