The Panther
Clark, Anne & Parlak, Murat
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His gaze, going past those bars
Has got 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 subtly powerful paddings
Turning there in tiniest circles
Well might be
The dance of forces round a centre where
Some mighty Will stands paralytically
Just now and then the pupil's noiseless shutter
Is lifted. Then an image will dart
Down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter
And end its beating in the heart