A vision.it reads:
Now we know our night is not night
When the sun sets, it is not in the west
Even the day has been robbed of its light
And the summer wind of its breath
"The dry men, the stuffed men,"
Is the summer's breath but then
As the poet said, who went to his rest
The last breath - a gasp of the end?
Lightning flashes - the heat of the night
Erupts in a sudden and white cascade
A call of thunder is a call to fight
A horn's call - of what battles are made
But to fight where do the blind go
If the lightning broke clean did they know
Or does the shuddering make afraid
Those who scrape earth here below?
Dry grass - if such dryness had a name
A browning of soul - a birth of straw
An anticipation before the flame
Accepting its red and final law
A law of blood - not fair or slight
Once of mercy, now mickle of might
Was this the vision he once saw --
"Now we know, our night is not Night."