On Certain Verses

By George Sterling

No sense of an horizon,
  No ray of sun or star:
Here a sick soul went groping
  In deserts hushed and far.

In this mirage of ashes
  The sight was turned within,
Where shadow hid in shadow
  And worlds were leached and thin.

A skeleton here gelded
  Of laughter and of lust
Points to the hieroglyphics
  Of snake-prints in the dust.

Sunken from wind and music,
  One hears, afar from light,
The drip of cryptic waters
  In caverns hard with night.

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