With wheels of gold fast whirling to the West.
Bridging with flame the barricaded Deep,
It strove with sparking hoof and spangled heat,
Where those twin rivers, Death and Life, retreat,
And surge across the Agony of Sleep.
I, to my casement, stark with horror crept;
Day tottered tall, and breathed a shuddering
breath:
Wading, knee-deep, the turgid fords of Death,
He clomb the cloven cliff of Dawn—and leapt.