Cobwebs

It is a land with neither night nor day, Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain, Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain Stretches thro' long unbroken miles away: While thro' the sluggish air a twilight grey Broodeth; no moons or seasons wax and wane, No ebb and flow are there among the main, No bud-time no leaf-falling there for aye, No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand, No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space, And loveless sea: no trace of days before, No guarded home, no time-worn restingplace No future hope no fear forevermore.