Like drift rejected by the loathing tide,
Vacant of heart and thought I lay; the air
That wooed my cheek and gently stirred my hair,
Laden with yearning voices of the spring,
Awoke in me no answering tone or string.
From the deep shadows of the sleeping wood
A baleful night-bird swept the solitude;
The shuddering moonlight like a living thing
Shrank from the touch of his defiling wing;
And fiercely following like an eager pack