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Cobwebs

by
 It is a land with neither night nor day, 
Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain, 
Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain 
Stretches thro' long unbroken miles away: 
While thro' the sluggish air a twilight grey 
Broodeth; no moons or seasons wax and wane, 
No ebb and flow are there among the main, 
No bud-time no leaf-falling there for aye, 
No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand, 
No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space, 
And loveless sea: no trace of days before, 
No guarded home, no time-worn restingplace 
No future hope no fear forevermore.

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