Ho, Death, Boatman Death, it is time we set sail;
Up anchor, away from this region of blight:
Though ocean and sky are like ink for the gale,
Thou knowest our hearts are consoled with the light.
Thy poison pour out--it will comfort us well;
Yea--for the fire that burns in our brain
We would plunge through the depth, be it heaven or hell,
Through the fathomless gulf--the new vision to gain.