Where star-cold and the dread of space

in icy silence bind the main

I feel but vastness on my face,

I sit, a mere incurious brain,

under some outcast satellite,

some Thule of the universe,

upon the utter verge of night

frozen by some forgotten curse.

The ways are hidden from mine eyes

that brought me to this ghastly shore:

no embers in their depths arise

of suns I may have known of yore.

Somewhere I dream of tremulous flowers

and meadows fervent with appeal

far among fever’d human hours

whose pulses here I never feel:

that on my careless name afar

a voice is calling ever again

beneath some other wounded star

removed for ever from my ken:

vain fictions! silence fills my ear,

the deep my gaze: I reck of nought,

as I have sat for ages here,

concentred in my brooding thought.