He marched. Through woods he strolled from flower to flower,
And over hills. As ointment drop by drop
Preciously meted out, so hour by hour
The day slipped through his hands: and now the power
Failed in his feet from walking. He was done,
Hungry and cold. That moment sank the sun.
19
He lingered—Looking up, he saw ahead
The black and bristling frontage of a wood
And over it the large sky swimming red