The Moon, the Measurer of his span of days;

The immemorial stars who pierce his night

With inklings of things vast and infinite.

All shows of heaven and earth that move and pass

Take form within his brain as in a glass.

The tidal thunder of the sea now roars

And breaks symphonious on a hundred shores;

The fitful flutings of the vagrant breeze

Strike gusts of sound from virgin forest trees;

[26]

White leaping waters of wild cataracts fall

From crag and jag in lapses musical,

And streams meandering amid daisied leas

Throb with the pulses of tumultuous seas.

From hills and valleys smoking mists arise,

Steeped in pale gold and amethystine dyes.

The land takes colour from him, and the flowers

Laugh in his path like sun-dyed April showers.

The moving clouds in calm or thunderstorm,

All shows of things in colour, sound, or form

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