II.
See, how the dented moss, that pads the hump
Of these distorted roots, elastic springs
From that god's late departure; lump by lump,
Pale tufts impressed twitch loose in nervous rings,
As crowding stars qualm thro' gray evening skies.
Indulgence grant thou my profane surprise,
Pray!—then to dream where thou didst dream before,
Benevolent! ... here where the veiny leaves
Bask broad the fuzzy bosoms of their hands
O'er wistful waters: 'neath this sycamore,
Smooth, giraffe-brindled, where each ripple weaves
A twinkling quiver as of marching bands