Not all the broomstick witches of New England Could break that congealed motion and cast down The huge sun thundering on the black marble Of the mantelpiece, streaked with white veins of foam.

If once such things could happen, all could happen, The snug, safe world crack up like broken candy And the young rivers, roaring, rush to the sea; White bulls that caught the morning on their horns And shook the secure earth until they found Some better recompense for life than life, The untamed ghost, the undiminished star.