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1
The Panther
His gaze
has got so misted
a thousand bars existed
well might be
the dance of
and no more world
forces round
a center where
with tiredness
beyond them
some mighty
will stands paralyticly
than before
Just now and then
the pupils
going past those bars
it can take in nothing more
Those supply
noiseless shutter
is lifted
powerful paddings
Then an image will indart
down through
He feels as though
turning there
the limbs
intensive stillness flutter
in tiniest of circles
and end its
being in the heart