Feign¹ a great calm；

    all gay transport soon ends.

    Chant： who knows—

    flight's end or flight's beginning

    for the resting gull²？

    Heart， be still.

    Say there is money but it rusted³；

    say the time of moon is not right for escape.

    It's the color in the lower sky

    too broadly suffused⁴，

    or the wind in my tie.

    Know amazedly how

    often one takes his madness

    into his own hands

    and keeps it.