Below us, on the rock-edge,

where earth is caught in the fissures

of the jagged cliff,

a small tree stiffens in the gale,

it bends—but its white flowers

are fragrant at this height.

And under and under,

the wind booms:

it whistles, it thunders,

it growls—it presses the grass

beneath its great feet.

[27]

II

I said:

for ever and for ever, must I follow you

through the stones?

I catch at you—you lurch:

you are quicker than my hand-grasp.

I wondered at you.

I shouted—dear—mysterious—beautiful—

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