I do not want to be

Here, there or anywhere;

My melancholy

Folds me beyond the reach of care

As ina valley

Whence long ago I tried to sally,

But dreamt and left my dream upon the air.

And now in lunar pleasure

I watch the undreaming folk of rock and stone

Lie side by side alone

Enjoying their enormous leisure,

That shall continue till the day

When rock and stone are put away;

And feel no more than they the’sun that burns

On this unmoving scenery,

Nor count nor care to count the dull returns

Of day and month and year and century

Crowding within the crowding urns.

For every eloquent voice dies in this air

Wafted from anywhere to anywhere

And never counted by the careful clock,

That cannot strike the hour

Of power that will dissolve this power

Until the rock rise up and split the rock.