Still, spite of all my flesh could feel,
My mind kept on its burning wheel,
Its blazing wheel of great aims lost,
And how her face was white—almost—
The day she’d spoken, kind and kind,
And left me eating night and blind;
So I slouched on till town was past
And scrubby country came at last,
Pinched as ingratitude. Across
The sky clouds towered, boss on boss