And the choked soul stretched weak hands
To reach the living word the far wheels said;
The blood-dazed intelligence beating for light,
Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels
Swift for the end to break
Or the wheels to break,
Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight,
“Will they come? Will they ever come?”
Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules,
The quivering-bellied mules,