Who hung each hall and room

 With swarthy-tinged vermilion upon gloom;

 I know that loom.

 Give me a little space and time enough,

 From ravelings rough

 I could revive, reweave,

 A fabric of beauty art might well believe

 Were past retrieve.

 O men and women in that rich design,

 Sleep-soft, sun-fine,

 Dew-tenuous and free,

 A tone of the infinite wind-themes of the sea,

 Borne in to me,

 Reveals how you were woven to the might

 Of shadow and light.

 You are the dream of One

13

 Who loves to haunt and yet appears to shun

 My door in the sun;

 As the white roving sea tern fleck and skim

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