Hart Crane

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn  Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell  Of a spent day – to wander the cathedral lawn  .From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell 

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest ,The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him Shedding white rings of tumult, building high —Over the chained bay waters Liberty