An arrowy burst; I cleared the beck;
And—the Kelpie rider bestrode my neck.
Dawn, the still red winter dawn;
I awoke on the plain; the wind was gone;—
All gracious and good as when God made
The living creatures, and none was afraid.
I stooped to drink of the wholesome spring
Under the poplars whispering:
Face to my face in that water clear—