Licked through those loud green sheaves of copse,
Bent hyphens 'twixt the mountain-tops,
Mosques of my motley choirs.
"And I, who gave them bed and bower
For nights enduring but an hour
Mid blaring miles of trumpet-flower,
Leagues of liana-wreath,
I saw the rocks through leaves and lings,
Could blink the fangs and feel the wings,
Thrill with the elemental things