She soars; she claws his patient face—
The girl-moon screams at the disgrace.
The sun’s blood fills the western sky;
He hurries not, and will not die.
The baffled Sphinx, on granite wings,
Turns now to where young China sings.
One thousand of ten thousand towns
Go down before her silent wrath;
Yet even lion-gods may faint
And die upon their brilliant path.