In Modern Bonds

Early and late, one day but as another, One night—one dreary night, like to its brother Silent and songless, empty of desire,— A numbness after unremitting tire,— So, in a vicious circle bound alway, From light to darkness and from night to day I move: a thing mechanical, I ween, As this my comrade here—this vast machine Which seems more of me than my blood and bone; Which more doth own me than my God doth own.

For what of difference is 'twixt it and me Lies in myself a vague and nameless sorrow, Baffling and barren as the flickering gleam Of starlight fallen on a frozen stream, Holding no ray of promise for a morrow Whose moments, as they come and go, must be— For one who welcomes nor the night nor morn, Whose weariness scarce knows itself forlorn— But portions of a dull, unwished eternity.