Chapter 9 No.9

Horrible sights and sounds of the unreached pole,

And shrill fierce climes of inconsolable air,

Shining below the beamless aureole

That hangs about the north-wind's hurtling hair,

A comet-lighted lamp, sublime and sole

Dawn of the dayless heaven where suns despair;

Earth, skies, and waters, smitten into soul,

Feel the hard veil that iron centuries wear

Rent as with hands in sunder,

Such hands as make the thunder

And clothe with form all substance and strip bare;

Shapes, shadows, sounds and lights

Of their dead days and nights

Take soul of life too keen for death to bear;

Life, conscience, forethought, will, desire,

Flood men's inanimate eyes and dry-drawn hearts with fire.