The Panther
In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris
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 of circles,
well might be the dance of forces round a centre
where some mighty will stand paralyticly.
Just now and then the pupils' noiseless shutter is lifted.
Then an image will indart,
down through the limbs' intensive stillnes flutter,
and end its being in the heart.