Then came I to the shoreless shore of silence, Where never summer was no shade of tree, Nor sound of water, nor sweet light of sun, But only nothing … - Conrad Aiken

The days, the nights, flow one by one above us,
The hours go silently over our lifted faces,
We are like dreamers who walk beneath a sea.
Beneath high walls we flow in the sun together.
We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pursue, we flee.

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.

Something had changed—but it was not the street—
The street was just the same—it was himself.