Amory moved forward on the deck until he found a stool under an electric light. He searched in his pocket for notebook and pencil and then began to write, slowly, laboriously: + 

“We leave tonight⁠ ⁠… + 

Silent, we filled the still, deserted street, + 

A column of dim gray, + 

And ghosts rose startled at the muffled beat + 

Along the moonless way; + 

The shadowy shipyards echoed to the feet + 

That turned from night and day. + 

And so we linger on the windless decks, + 

See on the spectre shore + 

Shades of a thousand days, poor gray-ribbed wrecks⁠ ⁠… + 

Oh, shall we then deplore + 

Those futile years! + 

See how the sea is white! + 

The clouds have broken and the heavens burn + 

To hollow highways, paved with gravelled light + 

The churning of the waves about the stern + 

Rises to one voluminous nocturne, + 

… We leave tonight.” + 