The panther
His gaze those bars keep passing is so misted
with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.
He feels as though a thousand bars existed,
and no more world beyond them than before.
Those supply-powerful paddings, turning there
in tiniest of circles, well might be
the dance of forces round a center where
some mighty will stands paralyticly.
Just now and then the pupil's noiseless shutter
is lifted — Then an image will indart,
down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter,
and end its being in the heart.
the orphan girl's song
I'm no one, and no one is what I shall be.
I'm still too small to exist, I agree;
but I'll always be so.
Mothers and fathers, oh,
have pity on me.
Bringing up's not worth the pains, I'll allow:
I shan't escape my fate.
No one can need me: it's too soon now,
and tomorrow it's too late.
I've only got this dress you see,
growing thin and colorless;
but perhaps it'll last an eternity
before God none the less.
I've only got this bit of hair
(the same as it was before),
which used to be someone's dearest care.
Nothing's dear to him any more.