Now Have I Grown A Sharpness And An Edge Unto My Future Nights, And I Will Cut Sheer Through The Ebon Gates That Yet Will Shut On Every Set Of Day; Or As A Sledge Drawn Over Snowy Plains; Where Not A Hedge Breaks This Aurora'S Dancing, Nothing But The One Cold Esquimaux' Unlikely Hut That Swims In The Broad Moonlight! Lo, A Wedge Of The Clean Meteor Hath Been Brightly Driven Right Home Into The Fastness Of The North! Anon It Quickeneth Up Into The Heaven! And I With It Have Clomb And Spreaded Forth Upon The Crisp And Cooling Atmosphere! My Soul Is All Abroad: I Cannot Find It Here!