The Panter

In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

His gaze those bars keep passing is so misted

with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.

He feels as though a thousand bars existed,

and no more world beyond them before.

Those supply-powerful paddings, turning there

in the tiniest of circles, well might be

the dance of forces round a center where

some mighty will stands paralyticly.

Just now and then the pupil's noiseless shutter

is lifted.— Then an image will indart,

down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter,

and end its being in the heart.