Round and round, the circulating vast Echoes the cold shadow that it casts. Round round dials the running hands Give chase, though no central sun Commands. Here's no heavenly cove, Perfumed and wreathed, rolling rich And blue beside our inside seas. Is it a death to stand without you On the riverbank, and look? The solitary sun revolves In bare space, tinting each Uplifted face. Is this enough Of love, of grace? What satisfies? Eh! At best, an arid paradise.