His vision, from the constantly passing bars,

His gaze against the sweeping of the bars

has grown so weary that it cannot hold

has grown so weary, it can hold no more.

anything else. It seems to him there are

To him, there seem to be a thousand bars

a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

and back behind those thousand bars no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,

The soft the supple step and sturdy pace,

the movement of his powerful soft strides

that in the smallest of all circles turns,

is like a ritual dance around a center

moves like a dance of strength around a core

in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

in which a mighty will is standing stunned.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils

Only at times the pupil’s curtain slides

lifts, quietly--. An image enters in,

up soundlessly — . An image enters then,

rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,

goes through the tensioned stillness of the limbs —

plunges into the heart and is gone.

and in the heart ceases to be.