458
 
Like eyes that looked on Wastes—
Incredulous of Ought
But Blank—and steady Wilderness—
Diversified by Night—
 
Just Infinites of Nought—
As far as it could see—
So looked the face I looked upon—
So looked itself—on Me—
 
I offered it no Help—
Because the Cause was Mine—
The Misery a Compact
As hopeless—as divine—
 
Neither—would be absolved—
Neither would be a Queen
Without the Other—Therefore—
We perish—tho’ We reign—

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