Futility

1898 At a little room Between candle light and a bowl of soup Morgan looks into the mirror Seeing a fairy spirit of his own His eyes are like the Atlantic Upon which a Titan sank a ship The solid block of ice is just a miles Thrown away by a prophet

Move him into the sun - Gently it's touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the s