Classic Poem

Here where I keep my vigil in the waste,
No wind doth come. For further loneliness
The furtive wings of air, long wont to bless
My listening soul with their eternal haste
Through the unhastening years, no more have graced
The silence, nor to blank forgetfulness
Smoothed the recording sand. No more, no less,
Stare back the foot-prints my own way hath traced.

Yet fellowship is mine; the brotherhood
Of the horizon's lone infinity;
Dusk and mirage, and far as sight can flee,
Two shapes that crouch on guard (lest there intrude
Hope of escape by city or by sea),
Two lions, sentinels of solitude.