The cold moon was in the air with me, and above the moon and me the colder sky, in which the moon and I dwelt.

I was Adam, waiting for God to breathe into my nostrils the breath of life .-- I was not Adam, but a child in the bosom of a mother white with a radiant whiteness.

I was a youth on a white horse, leaping from cloud to cloud of a blue heaven, hasting calmly to some blessed goal.

For centuries I dreamed--or was it chiliads?
or only one long night ?--But why ask?
for time had nothing to do with me; I was in the land of thought--farther in, higher up than the seven dimensions, the ten senses: I think I was where I am--in the heart of God .-- I dreamed away dim cycles in the centre of a melting glacier, the spectral moon drawing nearer and nearer, the wind and the welter of a torrent growing in my ears.

I lay and heard them: the wind and the water and the moon sang a peaceful waiting for a redemption drawing nigh.