your very tent poles with their weight and wearying you.

"Behind the encampment in the shadow of the tents lurks a dark figure
with a nimble sword, having the name of Time. This is he that hath
called the hours from beyond and he it is that is their master, and it
is his work that the hours do as they devour all green things upon the
earth and tatter the tents and weary all the travellers. As each of the
hours does the work of Time, Time smites him with his nimble sword as
soon as his work is done, and the hour falls severed to the dust with
his bright wings scattered, as a locust cut asunder by the scimitar of
a skillful swordsman.

"One by one, O King, with a stir in the camp, and the folding up of the
tents one by one, the travellers shall push on again on the journey
begun so long before out of the City without a name to the place where
dream camels go, striding free through the Waste. So into the Waste, O
King, thou shalt set forth ere long, perhaps to renew friendships begun
during thy short encampment upon earth.

"Other green places thou shalt meet in the Waste and thereon shalt
encamp again until driven thence by the hours. What prophet shall
relate how many journeys thou shalt make or how many encampments? But
at last thou shalt come to the place of The Resting of Camels, and
there shall gleaming cliffs that are named The Ending of Journeys lift
up out of the Waste of Nought, Nought at their feet, Nought laying wide
before them, with only the glint of worlds far off to illumine the
Waste. One by one, on tired dream camels, the travellers shall come in,
and going up the pathway through the cliff in that land of The Resting
of Camels shall come on The City of Ceasing. There, the dream-wrought
pinnacles and the spires that are builded of men's hopes shall rise up