extending under the street, the top soil had become insulated.

Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?

One haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,

Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:

There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.

Each soul is haunted by a ship in which that soul might ride

And climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven's silent tide

In voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate --

O empty boats, we all refuse, that by our windows wait!