Hart Crane
Hart Crane, 1899-1932


The tossing loneliness of many nights
Rounds off my memory of her.
Like a shell surrendered to evening sands,
Yet called adrift again at every dawn,
She has become a pathos,–
Waif of the tides.

The sand and sea have had their way,
And moons of spring and autumn,–
All, save I,
And even my vision will be erased
As a cameo the waves claim again.

* * * *

“Legende” originally appeared in The Modernist, 3 [November 1919]

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