From ’neath the world’s beshadowed side.
A night bird chatteth to its mate,
And lazily the fir-boughs wave.
We track us to the cot whose roof
Doth sag—and why thy shambling tread?
I bid ye on!
Dreamer:
Who art thou—again I that demand—
That I shall follow at thy bidding?
Who set me then this task?