To their destruction out of sight
Go past at speed the Gadarene:
Their labored demons each one trite
With common swinishness-obscene
The many as the one was not.
Love, did I so run after? Greed,
Were yours these cliffs that speed the gait?
Have pity, Precipice. The need
Grows weaker, and who lived to wait,
To guard, to hope to discipline
Soon learns. He learns his trust was bait.
It vanished, his vocation’s gone.