And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind! (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored
Of that tribunal monarch of the air
Whose thigh embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word
In wounds pledged once to hope, —cleft to despair?

—From Hart Crane’s “The Broken Tower”