These alternate nights and days, these seasons <br />Somehow fail to convince me. It seems <br />I have the sense of infinity! <br /> <br /> <br />(In your dreams, O crew of Columbus, <br />O listeners over the sea <br />For the surf that breaks upon Nothing—) <br /> <br /> <br />Once I was waked by the nightingales in the garden. <br />I thought, What time is it? I thought, <br />Time—Is it Time still?—Now is it Time? <br /> <br /> <br />(Tell me your dreams, O sailors: <br />Tell me, in sleep did you climb <br />The tall masts, and before you—) <br /> <br /> <br />At night the stillness of old trees <br />Is a leaning over and the inertness <br />Of hills is a kind of waiting. <br /> <br /> <br />(In sleep, in a dream, did you see <br />The world’s end? Did the water <br />Break—and no shore—Did you see?) <br /> <br /> <br />Strange faces come through the streets to me <br />Like messengers: and I have been warned <br />By the moving slowly of hands at a window. <br /> <br /> <br />Oh, I have the sense of infinity— <br />But the world, sailors, is round. <br />They say there is no end to it.<br /><br />Archibald MacLeish<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-for-a-prologue/
