I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day. What Hours, O What Black Ho'Rs We Have Spent This Night! What Sights You, Heart, Saw; Ways You Went! And More Must, In Yet Longer Light'S Delay. With Witness I Speak This. But Where I Say Hours I Mean Years, Mean Life. And My Lament Is Cries Countless, Cries Like Dead Letters Sent To Dearest Him That Lives Alas! Away. I Am Gall, I Am Heartburn. God'S Most Deep Decree Bitter Would Have Me Taste: My Taste Was Me; Bones Built In Me, Flesh Filled, Blood Brimmed The Curse. Selfyeast Of Spirit A Dull Dough Sours. I See The Lost Are Like This, And Their Scourge To Be As I Am Mine, Their Sweating Selves; But Worse.