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 along 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,
No pulse of life thro’ all the loveless land:
And loveless sea; no trace of days before,
   No guarded home, no toil-won resting place,
No future hope no fear for evermore.