That crazed girl improvising her music. Her
poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her
soul in division from itself Climbing,
falling she knew not where, Hiding
amid the cargo of a steamship, Her
knee-cap broken, that girl I declare A
beautiful lofty thing, or a thing Heroically
lost, heroically found. No
matter what disaster occurred She
stood in desperate music wound, Wound,
wound, and she made in her triumph Where
the bales and the baskets lay No
common intelligible sound But sang, “O sea-starved, hungry sea.” |
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