XX. Matters of the Heart   Nothing matters, when the chest is hollow. Nothing matters, when days merely follow Days, the certain course of sun and moon A pendulum unheeded, unattended, soon Mere mechanism of the passing days. No more. "I am the Lord; observe My ways And fear Me." I will not. My wretched need Laid like a lion's pelt against the cold, I march the mill of time, and I grow old. My voice is silent in a silent house, freed From futures, back against the past, treed Against the hounds that hunger for my soul. My species is extinct with me, gone the seed That could make more. I hear bells toll.