Issue 26, Summer-Fall 1961
But never fall from fealty to light.
You said, Melville? Now, by God, sir, why not?
The pall is comfortable enough; as soon rot
There as another place; once being well met,
The beauty of the dark is there’s no sight
Of that light you speak of! What lamps are lit
Save no falling from fealty to it
When once accepted wholly by the night.