Backed by their echoing forests of dark beech,

The naked savages yelled at the white sails,

Like wolves that bay the moon. They tossed their arms

Wildly through their long manes of streaming hair,

Like troubled spirits from an alien world.

Whence had they risen? From what ancestral night?

What bond of blood was there? What dreadful Power

Begot them—fallen or risen—from heaven or hell?

I saw him hunting everywhere for light

On life’s dark mystery; gathering everywhere