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QUESTION, by                    
First Line: What eye reflect the sight
Last Line: Caverned from me apart.


What eye reflect the sight
Of this star-stippled night:
What throat produce the words
Of these night-haunted birds,
Feathered, who sleep by day
With silence none can say?
The ripple's perfect arc,
Nudging the river's glass,
Astounds the huddled dark
Where shadows hugely pass;
Circumference none may draw.
This then the body's flaw:
No cool peace-perfect thing
Hs sprung, nor yet may spring,
And as a ripple ply
These under-depths of sky
Wherein I tensely stand --
Hot word and ready hand
Who own -- to probe the heart
Caverned from me apart.





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