His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world. As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of his powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly--. An image enters in, rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles, plunges into the heart and is gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEETING AND PASSING by ROBERT FROST HOLY SONNET: ANNUNCIATION by JOHN DONNE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 6. HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS by MARK AKENSIDE LINES TO A FITFUL LOVER by MIRIAM BARRANGER THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 2 by WILLIAM BASSE |