I Have Need To Busy My Heart

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow

Incredibly, Inordinately, Devastatingly, Immortally, Calamitously, Hearteningly, Adorably Beautiful.

Yet, Behind The Night, Waits For The Great Unborn, Somewhere Afar, Some White Tremendous Daybreak.

For Cambridge People Rarely Smile, Being Urban, Squat, And Packed With Guile.

Ponder Deep Wisdom, Dark Or Clear, Each Secret Fishy Hope Or Fear. Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond? This Life Cannot Be All, They Swear, For How Unpleasant, If It Were! One May Not Doubt That, Somehow, Good Shall Come Of Water And Of Mud; And, Sure, The Reverent Eye Must See A Purpose In Liquidity.