LEAGUES before me, leagues behind, Clamor warring wastes of flood, All the streams of all the worlds Flung together, mad of mood;
Through the canon beats a sound, Regular of interval, Distant, drumming, muffled, dull, Thunderously rhythmical;
Crafts slip by my startled soul--Soul that cowers, a thing apart--They are corpuscles of blood!
That's the throbbing of a heart!
God of terrors!--am I mad?--Through my body, mine own soul, Shrunken to an atom's size, Voyages toward an unguessed goal!
