The knowledge inposes a pattern, and falsifies,
For the pattern is new in every moment
And every moment is a new and shocking
Valuation of all we have been. We are only undeceived
Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm.

We were not yet thirty
All others over forty
So we were sent sailing
In the Saronic Gulf
Less wine dark than green-blue
A cloudy Pinot Blanc