I ' LL look no more! through timeless hours my eyes
Without intent have watched the slowing flight
Of ebon crows across quiescent skies
Till all are gone,—the last a lonely bird
Scudding to rest through streams of golden curd
A flow far eastward to the coming night.
And as I turn again to foiling thought
Beside a kindled lamp, all spirit leaves me,
As zephyrs leave the trees; and the void so grieves me,
That, as I watch the slow oil sink beneath
The noiseless burning wick of yellow flame,
It is as if God back to Him would breathe
All the world's given life, and end its Aim.