It is a land with neither night nor day, Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind nor rain, Nor hills nor valleys: but one even plain Stretches through long unbroken miles away, While through the sluggish air a twilight gray Broodeth: no moons or seasons wax and wane, No ebb and flow are there along the main, No bud-time, no leaf-falling, there for aye: -- No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand, No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space: No pulse of life through all the loveless land And loveless sea; no trace of days before, No guarded home, no toil-won resting-place, No future hope, nor fear for evermore. |