This is the dark. Lights strung up all the way.Depression; and driven deeper in,by hunger, pistols, and despair,they took the tunnel.

I wake up choking, and my wife"rolls me over on my left side;"then I'm asleep in the dream I always see:"the tunnel choked"the dark wall coughing dust.

And still go down.Now ladder-mouth; and the precipitous fear,uncertain rungs down into after-night."This is the place. Away from this my lifeI am indeed Adam unparadiz'd.Some fools call this the Black Hole of Calcutta,I don't know how they ever get to Congress.

The scene of hope's ahead; look, April,and next month with a softer wind,maybe they'll rest upon their land,and then maybe the happy song, and love,a tall boy who was never in a tunnel.