Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves

Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, vaulty, voluminous,…
    stupendous
Evening strains to be time’s vast, womb-of-all, home-of-all,
    hearse-of-all night.
Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, her wild
    hollow hoarlight hung to the height
Waste: her earliest stars, earl-stars, stars principal, overbend us,
Fire-featuring heaven.  For earth her being has unbound, her
    dapple is at an end, as—
tray or aswarm, all throughther, in throngs; self in self steeped
    and pashed—quite
Disremembering, dismembering all now.  Heart, you round
    me right
With: Our evening is over us; our night whelms, whelms,
    and will end us.
Only the beak-leaved boughs dragonish damask the tool—
    smooth bleak light; black,
Ever so black on it.  Our tale, O our oracle!  Let life, waned,
    ah let life wind
Off her once skeined stained veined variety upon, all on two
    spools; part, pen, pack
Now her all in two flocks, two folds— black, white; right,
    wrong; reckon but, reck but, mind
But there two; ware of a world where but these two tell, each
    off the other; of a rack
Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe- and shelterless, thoughts
    against thoughts in groans grind.