In frenzied haste, by legioned shadows pressed,

The Chariot of Charity in flight

Glittered along the Parapet of Night,

With wheels of gold fast whirling to the West.

Bridging with flame the barricaded Deep,

It strove with sparking hoof and spangled heat,

Where those twin rivers, Death and Life, retreat,

And surge across the Agony of Sleep.

I, to my casement, stark with horror crept;

Day tottered tall, and breathed a shuddering

breath:

Wading, knee-deep, the turgid fords of Death,

He clomb the cloven cliff of Dawn—and leapt.

A hand of ivory caught up the rein;

The Chariot rolled back superb again.