In Modern Bonds

Early and late, one day but as another,One night—one dreary night, like to its brotherSilent and songless, empty of desire,—A numbness after unremitting tire,—So, in a vicious circle bound alway,From light to darkness and from night to dayI move: a thing mechanical, I ween,As this my comrade here—this vast machineWhich seems more of me than my blood and bone;Which more doth own me than my God doth own.

For what of difference is 'twixt it and meLies in myself a vague and nameless sorrow,Baffling and barren as the flickering gleamOf starlight fallen on a frozen stream,Holding no ray of promise for a morrowWhose moments, as they come and go, must be—For one who welcomes nor the night nor morn,Whose weariness scarce knows itself forlorn—But portions of a dull, unwished eternity.