You rest upon me all my days The inevitable Eye, Dreadful and undeflected as the blaze Of some Arabian sky; Where, dead still, in their smothering tent Pale travellers crouch, and, bright About them, noon’s long-drawn Astonishment Hammers the rocks with light. Oh, for but one cool breath in seven, One air from northern climes, The changing and the castle-clouded heaven Of my old Pagan times! But you have seized all in your rage Of Oneness. Round about, Beating my wings, all ways, within your cage, I flutter, but not out.
