CHOU I am old and I cannot sleep forever, like the young, nor hope that death will be a novelty but endless wakefulness when I put down my work and go to bed. How much of what we did was good? Everything seems to move beyond our remedy. Come, heal this wound. At this hour nothing can be done. Just before dawn the birds begin, the warblers who prefer the dark, the cage-birds answering. To work! Outside this room the chill of grace lies heavy on the morning grass.