And the flesh of the stalk holds up for nothing a blank diadem.
The night’s flood-winds have lifted my last desire from me,
And my hollow flesh stands up in the night abandonedly.
As I stand on this hill, with the whitening cave of the city beyond,
Helen, I am despoiled of my pride, and my soul turns fond:
Overhead the nightly heavens like an open, immense eye,
Like a cat’s distended pupil sparkles with sudden stars,
As with thoughts that flash and crackle in uncouth malignancy
They glitter at me, and I fear the fierce snapping of night’s thought-stars.
Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns,