But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives, some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow.
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
