In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs Cammell, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running by the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the gulf claims
And an old man, driven on the Trades
To a sleepy corner.
Tenants of the house,