Wireless

THE HIGH stars glimmer in thine iron net,

And winds go whimpering along its wires;

Vast on the dark thy Titan bulk aspires—

A watcher on a lonely parapet!

And far, from hidden isles in ocean set,

Invisibly, yet thrall to thy desires,

They come, on wings nor storm nor darkness tires—

Words that the far-off hearts of men beget.

Gaunt harvester of desperate gulfs of night,

Strange winnower in wide dim vales of air,

Wilt thou yet garner by thy mystic might

Some word to still our ancient long despair?—

A whisper from the infinite?—a breath

Caught from the far unfathomed gulf of death?