His gaze, going past those bars, has got so misted With tiredness, it can take in nothing more. He feels as though a thousand bars existed, And no more world beyond them than before. Those supply powerful paddings, turning there In tiniest circles, well might be The dance of forces round a centre where Some mighty will stands paralyticly. Just now and then the pupils' noiseless shutter Is lifted. - Then an image will indart, Down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter, And end its being in the heart.