But yet there was his body, his chest, that leaned against the stile, his hands on the wooden bar.
They seemed something.

Where was he ?--one tiny upright speck of flesh, less than an ear of wheat lost in the field.

He could not bear it.
On every side the immense dark silence seemed pressing him, so tiny a spark, into extinction, and yet, almost nothing, he could not be extinct.

Night, in which everything was lost, went reaching out, beyond stars and sun.

Stars and sun, a few bright grains, went spinning round for terror, and holding each other in embrace, there in a darkness that outpassed them all, and left them tiny and daunted.