'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,  
  I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.  
  I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins...'  
  The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,  
  Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,  
  Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
The House of Dust (1916 - 1917)























