Sang in my ears its old insistent note;
Only at times I heard the wash and rush
Of waves on open shores and windy cliffs;
Only at times I seemed to see great wings
Scaling some crystal stairway to the Sun,
And languid eagles shouldering languid clouds.
Singing on summer mornings too I heard,—
I caught the sound that sweet green waters make,
The music—O so delicate!—of leaves
And rustling grasses, and the stir of wings